


Hope and Ruin

by Scarecrowqueen



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Angst, Antagonism, Awkwardness, Baths are Just Awkward, Cause we can't just talk about our feelings like grownups, Depression, Lack of Communication, M/M, Masturbation, No fluff here folks, Self Confidence Issues, Unhappy Feels, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-21
Updated: 2014-01-16
Packaged: 2017-12-15 16:12:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 29,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/851486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scarecrowqueen/pseuds/Scarecrowqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even with the worst of the damage set to rights, there is a lot of work left before the Warren will be back to it's former glory.  Aster is more then ready to see it through, he just never considered that Jack Frost would be willing to help.</p><p>Everything else that came after, well, he'd never considered any of that, either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. And It's Heavy Now

**Author's Note:**

> So, not quite sure what I've started here, or where it's going. Guess I'll be as surprised as you guys, yeah?

After the Easter that never was, the repair of the Tooth Palace was tantamount. Firstly, because the memories were too precious to be left unprotected in Pitch’s lair, of all places, and secondly because Tooth’s job was an around-the-clock commitment. Since Easter was seasonal, Aster’s domain had been prioritized as second. It stung a little, as justifications aside, Aster could still remember what it felt like to be invisible, to be walked through, and he ached, no, he _burned_ to have his home set to rights again. But he was nothing if not practical, and Tooth’s home needed to take precedence, so it did. They all pitched in, Yeti’s and mini-fairies and guardians alike, until, at last, every last box was back in place. Tooth had been effusive with her thanks and praise, gushing over every attendant worker, stuffing them all full of tropical fruits and other teeth-friendly snacks, giving out hugs and handshakes like they were going out of style. Aster took his own fair share of the affection with the good-natured grumble everyone expected from him. He couldn’t help but notice though, that Jack, skinny, pale little Jack, seemed both overwhelmed and yet starving for the attention Tooth lavished on him every time she flitted by. The boy seemed not to know what to do with his hands during each awkward hug, or how to respond to a casual touch on the arm, first tensing in surprise, only leaning into it when it was being taken away. He looked a little lost, a little out of his depth, and while he kept the same mischievous expression on his face, it did not reach his eyes, and Aster wondered if anyone else had noticed. Even at the end, when Tooth offered him his teeth back, for a longer perusal, he’d declined more politely then Aster had thought him capable of, assuring Tooth that he’d already had all his questions answered, as he gently handed the golden box back like it might have bitten him. No one else found the act strange at all, but to Aster the boy’s reassuring smile was positively false.

Jack was wrong, there were more answers to be had, and Aster intended to find them.

The opportunity presented itself a few days later, after their combined attentions had been turned towards the Warren. Slowly, the devastation from Pitch’s attack was reversed. At least, as much as was possible to accomplish in just a few days; Aster would still have his work cut out for him for the next few months, carefully replanting what was killed and coaxing everything else back into full bloom. The Warren, unlike the Tooth palace, was a mostly living thing, and like all living things, only time and tenderness could restore it truly. Aster had dismissed is friends, thanking them no less, but perhaps more conservatively than Tooth had for their aide, preparing himself for the long, grueling haul that would remain solely his to attend too.

Until the very next day, when Jack showed up again, unannounced. Aster had been ready to dismiss the boy, still wary of Jack’s intentions, or at the very least his aptitude, but something in the boy’s hollow eyes begged him not to, so Aster consented him to stay. The boy was thrown straight into the deep end with the hardest work; the replanting. It was hot, tiresome and filthy, digging bare-handed into the soil to the proper depth, laying the seeds, patting the soil back just right, firmly but not too tightly. No tools could be used as they disrupted the flow of magical energy, and not shortcuts could be taken for the same. When the whole field was done, Aster would summon a rain to fall, just heavy enough to wet the earth and encourage the growth, the magic of the Warren and Aster himself feeding the delicate new greenery as much as any water could. As difficult as it was, Aster had always found the planting soothing, although now he found himself stiffer, more exhausted then he remembered, every bit of discomfort reminding him that he was still weak from lack of belief. Sandy’s return and the subsequent good dreams he’d been spreading of his fellow Guardians had certainly helped, but Aster suspected he wouldn’t feel any better until he’d had a couple of successful Easter’s under his belt. It was his usual gruff demeanor combined with his frustration at his own newly-defined limits, and likely a predisposition against the boy that found him snarling at Jack the third time the boy accidentally frosted the little mound he was trying to pat down. In retrospect, Aster was the worst sort of asshole for it, considering the boy had been the only one who’d extended help above and beyond what was expected, and he was new to this, and was also likely suffering from the power influx and subsequent control issues that came from having believers for the very first time, but It was so second nature by now to yell at Jack, that Aster had gone off on the kid before he’d even realized he’d done it. In the sudden silence after his outburst, Aster watched Jack fidget, face down, a suspicious glimmer in his eyes that Aster had seen twice before, once in North’s workshop barely a week earlier, when Aster had taken a dig at the boy’s lack of believers, and once many years ago, Easter Sunday 1968, their disastrous first meeting, as Aster had torn the boy to shreds. It brought his up short, and he floundered for a moment, casting about in his head for the suitable words for an apology, before Jack decided to make for his staff and bolt, but instead the boy surprised him, but straightening his shoulders and continuing, brushing the frosted soil off the top and repacking it with moist, cool soil.

“Like this?” He’d said, simply, but with a roughness in his voice that had made Aster wince in guilt.

“Yeah, Frostbite, like that.” Aster had said, after swallowing a couple times to clear his suddenly dry throat. The boy had nodded; his eyes still downcast and moved on to the next hole, carefully scooping at the dirt with pale hands stained black. It was somehow moving to Aster, to see those slender fingers working so diligently at his command, and he’d felt his throat dry again for an entirely different reason that he was loathe to name. It was this sudden tightness of his larynx that be blamed for his lack of apology, or even the explanation that a little bit of frost could hardly hurt the seeds, hardy as they were. They worked in silence after that, tense and awkward. When Aster finally called it quits at sunset, Jack had accomplished far more then Aster had thought he’d be able to in a day, and most if done near-perfectly, with no other little slips of magic after the one that had earned him the scolding. Jack climbed to his feet slowly, obviously sore from the day’s work, grimy and looking a trifle to warm for the comfort of a winter elemental. It was on the tip of Aster’s tongue to offer Jack a place to bathe and rest, but he swallowed it, merely inclining his head towards the boy as he gathered his staff. Jack responded in kind with a wordless salute, gestured with the curved end of his staff as he made his way back towards the tunnels that would take him home.

Aster figured that would be the last he’d see of the boy, until either the next crisis or Jack felt like causing trouble, but the boy returned the next day, unbidden and almost shy, asking once again with some phantom scent of desperation to help. He was nearly as dirty as the day previous, like he had rubbed at the most visible of dirt but hadn’t properly washed up, and Aster couldn’t help but wonder if the boy even _had_ a place to wash up in. Suddenly uncomfortable at the thought, he pushed it away and beckoned the boy forward. They returned to the field they’d begun earlier, the soil freshly wetted from the rains Aster had summoned overnight, tiny green shots already breaking ground from the newly planted seeds. Aster almost thought he’d caught a tiny smile on Jack’s lips at the sight, but if he had it was gone, buried beneath a face of concentration Aster hadn’t ever seen on the boy prior to now. In quiet agreement, they’d begun where they’d left off; working alongside each other again, unspeaking but less tense then the day before had been. They accomplished even more together this day then the last, and although they hadn’t said a word, when Jack left things between them seemed somehow better then they had earlier.

Jack came back the next day, looking and acting much the same. They made some small talk today, mostly about the Warren, and the rest of the work that would be required to restore it. Jack returned again the day after, and the next, and every day things smoothed between them, just a little bit further, until Aster could almost mistake the quiet moments between them as companionable, even if Jack still seemed ready to flinch and flee at any sudden movement.

On the fifth day, Aster had taken pity on the bedraggled boy and had offered him a shot at the washbasin, to rinse the worst of the dirt. Jack had blinked at him wide eyed for a moment, then delicately accepted, like the offer was made of glass. Aster had watched as the boy had fumbled about his kitchen, bent forward over the bowl and clumsily splashing water onto his face, rubbing at his cheeks with fingers still blackened in the creases, then practically shoving his whole head forward into the bowl to wet his hair, one hand bracing himself on the tabletop, the other hurriedly scrubbing through his short hair. When he finally pulled back and accepted the offered towel, he somehow still managed to look more like a drowned sprite instead of the clean-cut boy he’d been only days previous. His hair was a washed out grey from the remnants of dirt, the filth ground into the creases on his palms, under his nails and between his bare toes. There was still a smudge of black in the delicate whorl of one ear, and his clothes were practically ruined, the knees of Jack’s ancient pants stiffened with caked on mud with practically the consistency of concrete. Aster watched Jack scowl down at his grubby hoodie, but the boy made no move to take it off for washing, nor did Aster offer the service of his laundry tub, currently kept for the sole use of washing his linens. In truth, Aster was already uncomfortable having Jack in his personal space as it was, even if it was the mannerly thing to do, and the sooner the boy left, the better. Eventually jack just sighed, giving perfect cleanliness up a lost cause and retrieving his staff to leave. Aster walked him out the door, watching the boy give a crooked tilt of his lips and the same salute as always as he made his way to wherever it was he went when he wasn’t here. 

Back to Burgess maybe, to the lake he seemed to frequent? For some reason, not knowing the answer rattled Aster, just a little, and he vowed to ask Jack. Eventually, perhaps, if it came up in a conversation, he’d ask.

Wouldn’t do to show he cared or was worried or anything, at least not yet, not until he’d figured out what it was about Jack that made him want to peel the boy open like the petals of a flower until he could see all the secret, hidden things that he was made of.


	2. And It Weighs Me Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Friendships were give and take, right? Couldn’t be that hard to make them work. Maybe.

The dirt on his cheek itched, just as the dirt on the back of his neck and ground into his scalp did too, aggravated by the not-sweat that formed as the steady warmth of the Warren systematically melted the frost the Jack had to summon to his skin to keep cool. If Jack were smarter, he’d have learned by now to stop touching his face, rubbing his neck, or running his hands through his hair while working. The actions did nothing but smear the dark soil caked to his hands all over the rest of him, but old habit’s died hard and he fidgeted when he was nervous. Which he almost always was, around Bunny.

The guy had a wicked temper and was a crack shot with the boomerangs, so sue him.

Regardless, a week into this routine he should have known better, but Jack was a slow learner, for the most part. Which was why he was back here again, today. Not that Bunny ever thanked him, or was even nice to him, but it didn’t really matter. Thanks and niceties weren’t why Jack was here. He was here because of the slow learner thing, wasn’t that right? Or maybe because he was just crazy, hadn’t someone said once that the definition of insanity was doing the same thing over and over again expecting different results? Over a week into this routine and Jack could’ve set a watch to Bunny’s behaviour. Step on anything you shouldn’t, he yells. Frost anything you shouldn’t he yells. Ask a dumb question that you shouldn’t, he yells. How they guy hadn’t gone hoarse yet Jack didn’t know. But Jack was prone to exaggeration too, couldn’t be that bad, right? After all, Jack had come back.

Why had he come back again?

Oh, yeah, _right._

Unable to stop the action, Jack found himself itching behind his ear, both from nerves and actual itch, doubtlessly compounding the problem by smearing more dirt onto his already filth skin. Jack had tried washing up in his lake, but the water was still frozen enough that his clothes would’ve just iced solid, and the air was too cool for proper drying. Not that he could’ve stood around in the buff waiting for them to dry, now that he had believers he couldn’t run the risk of traumatizes the younglings with his pale, pasty ass. Well, formerly pasty, Jack was as muddy as his clothes, and no amount of cold lake water scoped with bare hands could fix it without soap, and likely some kind of washcloth. Assuming of course, the Jack’s fluctuating powers didn’t just re-freeze the water solid at the first touch. It sucked; Jack hadn’t been this out of control since he’d been reborn. Flying especially sucked, because even his control over wind had shifted, like a sudden growth spurt, leaving him tumbling onto more than a few rough landings. The remnants of bruises throbbed uncomfortably under his clothes, but Jack refused to let it show. Jack had debated asking Jamie to borrow his bathroom, but for the same reason he hadn’t, have a frozen water pipe would doubtlessly be hard to fix and raise a lot of questions so far into springtime. The land may still have been thawing, but thawing it was, and Jack knew when he wasn’t wanted.

Jack had also debated asking Bunny for soap next time the other Guardian offered him the washbasin, but Jack wasn’t about to overstep his bounds. It was enough that the other had offered at all, or, more likely judging by the faintly disgusted look on the Rabbit’s face, that Bunny had simply been tired of working alongside a walking pigpen. Jack had been massively uncomfortable the whole time he’d splashed himself down, hyper aware of the Rabbit’s larger frame nearly hovering over him as the water in the bowl had slowly blackened with grime. He knew it was a futile effort in the end, but the offer had been made and Jack would never say never, not when the alternative was to never have an offer at all. Friendships were give and take, right? Couldn’t be that hard to make them work. Maybe.

Scoop soil. Lay seed. Pack soil, gently. Tamp down on frost so hard that hand shake. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Repeatrepeatrepeatrepeatrepeatrepeatrepeatrepeatrepeatrepeatrepeat...

Jack blinks, sways a little, glances up from under his bangs to bee if Bunn’s noticed. The Rabbit is a few feet ahead of Jack, back mostly turned, which is a no, he probably didn’t. Good, it’s easier to be here like this when they don’t look straight at each other; when their eyes never meet. Jack rises to his feet as smoothly as he can, refuses to allow himself to stumble on legs that are stiff and numb from hours of kneeling. He saunters as casually as possible to the tureen of water left nearby for refreshment, scooping himself a ladleful and freezing it in his mouth so he has an ice cube to suck on while he works. Usually he could just form the ice from the water in the air, but he’d been warm for too long and is a little dried out, so outside water it is. Before he returns to work, he frosts the outside of the tureen, using the condensation to continue keeping the water cool. He needs more water than this, the ice is already melting away on his tongue, but he is a guest and gulping away like a greedyguts is unmannerly. His mother would never approve. Not that she was alive to approve, but he likes to think that her approval or at least the fantasy of it might still matter somehow. 

In the back of Jack’s mind he can still hear her voice, entreating him to be careful that day he led his sister straight into his own untimely ending. He’s a careless sort of person really, always had been. As the woman who’d birthed and raised him, she should have known better. 

MiM but sometimes he wished she’d have known better.

Scoop soil. Lay seed. Pack soil, gently. Hold back frost, stare at Bunny’s back. Repeat. Accidentally misfire, frost your fingers together, then shake them out frantically while cursing ‘cause the tight sheathe of ice pinches. 

“Should do something about that power bleed. S’not safe.” Jack blinks, Bunny’s voice is level, even, but Jack’s hackles rise. Not safe? Of course Jack isn’t safe. He’s winter, he’s cold; he could be death and barrenness as easily as he was snow days and fun, if he chose. But Jack was Jack and there was no choice, not really, and didn’t Bunny know that? Jack’s chest hurts familiarly at the lack of good faith, but in rage or pain he couldn’t say.

“I’m not dangerous.” Lies lies lies, and the thickness in Jack’s voice speaks true, but Bunny only shrugs, shoulder moving in an upward jolt, not hearing or not caring.

“You could spend some time on it, not that you do anything but kick around here all day, right?” Bunny’s tone is even, or perhaps it’s condescending, Jack doesn’t know, because he hurts inside, because he’s doing much more than ‘kicking around here,’ and shouldn’t Bunny be grateful? Shouldn’t that matter? No, it shouldn’t, it doesn’t, and Jack isn’t here to be patted on the back. So instead of speaking, Jack simply shrugs back, well aware Bunny can’t see him with his back still turned and returns to work, abandoning his currently dug hole for a couple of moments until it defrosts. Jack bites his tongue to help keep himself silent, chomping through the last bit of the ice as he does, the final cool droplets sliding down his throat. He’s still thirsty, but he’s afraid to stand again, because if he does he might run, but he needs to be here right now and can’t leave, not yet.

“You should at least be out looking for more believers. You need them now, being Oathed n’ all.” Bunny says over an hour later, now facing Jack from three rows away. Jack’s fingers clench in the soil involuntarily, but he’s warmed up enough that the frost that comes is too weak to last more than a second before fading back to moisture. 

“I’m doing fine, longears. No need to worry about the resident popsicle.” Not this, anything but this, just leave it alone Bunny, leave it alone, leave it alone, leave it alone...

“If yeh wanna fade, that’s your choice mate, sounds like you don’t care to me. You waited so long for this though, just seems a waste.” The twist of Jack’s lips is bitter, he knows as he replies.

“Can wait a little longer then, can’t I? I’m only kicking about here all day right? Not off spending myself frivolously on snowstorms or anything.” The sarcasm is obvious, and Jack catches the furrow of a frown appear on Bunny’s face. Good, remind him that Jack has claws, too.

“You say it like you don’t think you’ve earned them. The believers, I mean.” The word tumble into the air between them with all the discordance of a cat on a keyboard.

Despite that, the silence after they are spoken is nearly deafening.

Jack breathes around the pain of the nerve Bunny’s just hit; tries to keep his head down, presumably to focus on his work, mostly to keep Bunny from reading his far too open face. He can’t stop himself peeking though, and Bunny is staring at him, intent and unnerving, his expression unrecognizable. Jack had intended not to reply, but he can’t stop the words that bubble to his mouth despite the tightness in his throat that turns his voice rough. 

“I break stuff, you know. Things, rules, _Easters..._ You tell me what I’ve earned.” Hurt as they do to speak, the words catch Bunny exactly as Jack hoped they would; right in centre mass like a fatal wound, and the other male honestly, physically flinches. Spectacular double edge sword that, considering Jack feels somewhat like flinching too. Steadying his hands as best he can, Jack pats down the soil over another seed, unwaveringly continuing on with his work. Only cowards ran, and Jack has danced cheek to cheek with the Nightmare King himself, what fear does he have of an oversized Lagomorph?

Bunny stares at Jack for another long moment, the weight of his gaze damning, before grunting and returning for work. For hours there is no talk, no sounds but the tilling of earth and the shuffling of bodies in the dirt. They retire at sunset as usual, and this time Bunny again offers the washbasin, albeit with the kind of hesitation you’d use to offer a handshake to a leper. Jack almost wants to tell him to fornicate with himself in multiple creative ways just on general principle, but the thought of clean, none-lake water to wash in is too tempting.

This time, Bunny offers a bar of soap as well, and as awkward as it is to hunch over the washbowl trying to contain the suds, feeling those jaded green eyes on his back, Jack can still spare a second to luxuriate in the feeling of being cleaner then he has been in days. It’s not a perfect job, just hands, face and neck really, as he’s far too modest to even consider removing the filthy hoodie, but at times something is far better than nothing, after all. His clothes are still a lost cause, but he doesn’t itch at all, at least for the next couple of days. Still, every day he returns. Jack’s a slow learner after all, and this lesson hasn’t sunk in yet.

If ever it will have the chance, ‘cause heaven knows Jack’s exactly the kind to poke at his bruises, too.


	3. First to Last, Best to Worst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boy had always appeared carefree, no, almost careless, yet always, always in control. Now though, the boy struggles against himself, fighting hard and losing ground, his own physical exhaustion the only thing allowing his iron will to win.

The boy shows up again the next day as usual, and Aster isn’t sure whether he’s impressed or mystified. Truth be told, with every moment they spend together Aster is starting to see that the kid has layers. Layers upon layers upon layers; like sedimentary rocks. Aster can’t help but wonder at how much friction it will take until he can wear away enough to see exactly what Jack Frost is made of. It’s a curious sensation, this desire for knowledge, for _knowing,_ but Aster was a scholar before he’d even been anything else, and while that life is far behind him the past has hooks that dig deep and never quite let go.

So Aster wonders and he ponders, and he watches the boy surreptitiously from the corner of his eye as they work. The boy is tense, taut, holding himself like he’s bound by invisible wires. It’s nothing like the way he normally moves; loose and easy with the casual confidence of someone who knows where all their limbs are and exactly how each one moves. The suspicious creeps into Aster’s skull, multiplied by the quietly uttered oath Jack lets slip when his frost sneaks away from him to coat a small patch of damp earth. It’s not enough to do damage, not near enough, but the boy’s face shutters even further, lips pinched so tight they’re white and bloodless. He’s holding back, Aster realizes, but it should not be that difficult, that _painful_ to do so. It wasn’t before; Aster recalls their handful of meetings prior to Jack’s Guardianship rather clearly. The boy had always appeared carefree, no, almost careless, yet always, always in control. Now though, the boy struggles against himself, fighting hard and losing ground, his own physical exhaustion the only thing allowing his iron will to win. It wasn’t right, wasn’t the natural way of things, and the more time that Jack spent here with Aster and not out working with his new power, the longer he’d go on fighting and struggling. The fact that he didn’t appear to be worried about his believers troubles Aster too. Perhaps it was different for Jack, who’d gone without for so long and was so powerful even alone, but the Oath’s required their dues and the sooner he got himself more exposure, the better off he’d be. 

Making a decision, Aster nods to himself, sharply. Standing suddenly, he claps his hands onto his thighs to scrub the mud from his fingers, not particularly caring is the motion smears it into the fur on his legs. He plods over to Jack, who’s either deliberately ignoring his approach or is so absorbed in his reigning in his magic that he honestly didn’t notice. Aster already had his bet placed on which one it was, too.

“Think that’s enough of that for today, yeah?” Aster’s voice wasn’t particularly loud, even in the silence. That didn’t stop it from startling the boy so badly that his ice spun out of control, coating a good patch of the ground in a fine layer of trailing frost, right up to Aster’s toes and curling around Jack’s knees. The boy cursed loudly and harshly, eyes darting wildly up to meet Aster’s, the panic evident. Well, Aster was right, it was the latter. Too bad he couldn’t owe himself money. The boy was obviously keyed right up, probably ready to do something ridiculous like apologize or defend himself. Aster hated apologies, they were a waste of time and useless to boot, as so few people seldom meant them. Nor did Aster want to watch the boy fly into a tirade against’ accusations he hadn’t made. It didn’t sit well with Aster that Jack had automatically come to expect an attack from him, but to be honest Aster was usually expecting and attack from Jack first. Attention seeking though they may have been, Jack had long been going out of his to target the Pooka for increasingly more malicious and elaborate pranks over the course of their acquaintance. Things may have leveled off into a hesitant trust after Pitch, but Aster would never forget Easter ’68, or everything else that led up to that point. He’d given as good as he’d got though, usually, so doubtless Jack had his axes to grind as well. He’d have to look into burying those hatchets at some point, but for now he had bigger concerns.

“Jumpy, mate?” Apparently, provoking the kid was the name of the game, whether he’d planned it or not. Aster was many things; unfortunately socially awkward was definitely one of them, if evidenced by Jack’s petulant scowl.

“Funny, ‘Roo. Whaddya want?” Jack’s tone was the perfect mix of bored and sullen, which usually drove Aster around the bend. Doubtlessly why the boy had chosen to use it, and knowing this allowed Aster to take a deep, calming breath before continuing.

“That backlash is getting worse, bucko. Y’need to get it under wraps, pronto.” Jack’s scowl deepened further, turning his usually attractive face ugly with it. 

“And who are you to make me? My mother’s dead I’ll have you know, don’t need great big fuzzy busybody over my shoulder.” Jack’s words were deliberately harsh, falling between them like pointy little needles. Aster shrugged it off again, having expected the resistance. 

“You’re right there kid, I ain’t yer mum. Just wondering how long you’ll let it go. Til you hurt someone, perhaps? Til one of your little games with your believers ends badly? Can you afford that, Jack Frost?” Jack had frozen solid, no pun intended, upon hearing Aster’s words. The Pooka sighed internally, he hadn’t intended to be a _total_ asshole about it, but the kid needed the push, he needed to _listen_ and understand that things weren’t going to magically get better just because they ignored them. Even if ignoring the unpleasant things were a large part of Jack’s favored coping mechanisms, in a situation like this is could very well end in tragedy, and Aster refused to allow it when he knew Jack could be coerced into hearing the truth. The boy’s face was still downcast, longish bangs throwing shadows over his eyes, but Aster could see Jack’s mouth working, like he was searching for a response. 

Or maybe trying not to cry. Please MiM, don’t let it be the latter, Aster was absolute shit as handling someone else tears. His own were bad enough, _thankyouverymuch._ And uncomfortable silence settled between them, Aster still looming over Jack, casting him further into shadows, hands on his hips. Jack knelt in the dirt, filthy and damp and still. When he finally spoke, there was a broken-glass quality to his voice, but he didn’t sound on the verge of tears, so Aster counted it a win. 

“So tell me genius, the fuck do I do about it?”

“You could knock off yer little one-man army mindset and let me lend a paw.” Jack snorted a little, his lip curling visibly.

“And how do you propose that, Einstein?” Aster couldn’t help the slight grin that made his lips twitch, although Jack couldn’t see it. Had the boy right where he wanted him

“Come with me and I’ll show you.” After a moment’s pause, the boy nodded and stood to follow, gathering his staff as he did so. Aster turned and led him from the field, listening for the nearly silent steps behind him to ensure the boy was following. Over a couple of hills and around a bend was what Aster affectionately called the training grounds, the place where he tested new weapons, honing his throwing skills, and performed his katas every morning. The location was set away form anything that could be easily destroyed, and the ground was nothing but hard packed dirt with a few stumps set out as ‘dummies’ for target practice. It was there that he led the boy, standing him in front of a cluster of three at a medium distance, then situation himself behind the kid and off to the side out of the blast radius.

“Ok, we do this same as I learned to throw, yeah? For starters, hit the stumps one at a time with some frost. We can focus on the rest later.” The scowl had returned to Jack’s face at Aster’s words.

“Hit the stump? Hell, patronizing much?” Jack spat his words, before brandishing his staff and taking casual aim. The frost burst forth in a violent rush, splaying out in all directions. The ice slammed into all three stumps at once, instantly turning them into large stalagmites rising from the frozen ground. The frost spread in a wide ‘V,’ coating the ground from Jack’s feet to nearly a metre past the stumps themselves, and branching to the side almost in line with where Aster stood. Dumbstruck, Jack gaped at the wanton destruction he’d unknowingly caused; and Aster didn’t miss the boys hands beginning to tremble a little in what was likely honest _fear_ on the wood of his staff. Tapping his foot, Aster coaxed the warmth of his power into the soil and the air, surrounding the stumps and quickly melting the ice until, a couple minutes later, nothing but wet soil remained, despite the training stumps looking a bit worse for wear.

“So, little bit gentler touch this time, I think. Well? What you waiting for, Easter? Let’s get on with it.” Jack’s mouth snapped shut, and his grip tightened, smoothing out the shaking of his hands as his gaze narrowed in focus. With a quick, precise motion, the frost flowed again, no less violent but more controlled. All three stumps froze again, but the attack was more focused, the cone of affected area significantly narrower than before. Another tap to melt the ice, another gentle encouragement, or at least as gentle as Aster could manage, and they were off a third time. And a fourth, then a fifth. By the twelfth time, the stumps had to be abandoned for new ones. Jack seemed slightly off-put by the destroyed section, but Aster shrugged it off, refusing to explain that it was fine, it was no worse then he’d done himself over the years; just as Jack was likely ignoring the urge to apologize or something stupid. This was training, things got broken. It was better here than out there, where one wrong move could injure an innocent bystander, or cause irreparable damage to something that wasn’t a hunk of wood in the ground.

By the time they’d demolished another set of stumps, Jack had improved enough to be able to hit a single target, although he was still throwing far more power than needed into each attack. The constant drain was taking its toll though; Aster could tell Jack was nearing his limit, if not there already. 

“Right, let’s call it there then. Pick up tomorrow after some planting, yeah?” Aster watched as Jack exhaled sharply, turning to face him then sagging a bit in place with his exhaustion, leaning heavily on his staff.

“So what’s the point? How’s this going to help? I mean, unless we all get attacked by evil stump creatures from outer space...” Aster ignored the sarcasm, mildly impressed that the boy had held his tongue this long.

“Can’t drink the ocean through a straw, mate. Start simple, then work up to the harder displays of control.” Jack blinked at Aster, eyes wide with confusion.

“Can’t drink the... Man, does that even make sense? Who taught you to speak ‘normal person,’ cause you paid them too much, you definitely need to get a re...fund...” 

Jack swayed suddenly, dangerously, eyes going blank and unfocused and skin blanching so white he seemed nearly translucent. For a moment Jack seemed to teeter in place, before pitching forward to thump face-first onto the damp ground, staff clattering down beside him a second later. Aster stared, completely stunned, at the winter spirit lying splayed out on his stomach like a murder victim.

“Aw, _HELL..._ ”

And the day had been going so nicely, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Show of hands, who's thinking about lynching me right now?


	4. Ash to Ash, Blessed to Cursed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Ya whine like an infant Frost. Couple glasses o’ water and you’ll be back on those grubby little feet o’ yers in no time.”
> 
> Y’know, one of these days, Jack will learn that asking himself those sorts of rhetorical questions does nothing but court trouble. That day is not today however, obviously.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay on this chapter, real life got away from me for a bit. Also, I have to be in the right head space to write this fic, and it isn't coming as easily to me as my headspace for my more lighthearted pieces did.

Jack wakes up with a headache. A serious, oh-MiM-kill-me-now-I-don’t-want-to-live-anymore-and-give-all-my-stuff-to-BabyTooth-when-I’m-gone, pounding, resonating, pulsating migraine. Jack feels like death frozen over, and as an actual dead guy that’s totally saying something. Rolling over onto his stomach and pressing his face into the cool pillow, Jack groans a bit as the motion makes the throbbing in his skull increase. Honestly, it’s feels like even his hair hurts. Or his eyelashes. Perhaps even his toenails, if that’s possible. He wonders vaguely if this is what a hangover feels like, having never had one for the comparison, and if it is, well, he’s done good avoiding this shit for three whole centuries plus. On top of the pain, his mouth feels stuffed with cotton, his eyes are gritty and dry despite being closed, and he has about as much strength at his disposal as a baby duckling.

Also, he realizes with the fuzziness of someone in deep pain and still half asleep, he doesn’t have a proper bed, only catching quick catnaps up trees or in snow banks when he’d depleted his power reserve enough to make it absolutely necessary, which hasn’t happened too often in his life so far. In fact, whatever he’d done must have been a doozy to lay him up like this. In a bed. Which wasn’t his, because he didn’t have one. So, someone somewhere had taken him to bed. Their bed. Were they here with him? Jack flops first one arm out to the side, then the other, flailing about with absolutely zero coordination for another body. He doesn’t’ find one, but he doesn’t find the edge of the bed either, so maybe they were here, but out of arms reach. Jack tries to listen for breathing, but doesn’t hear anything. So he’s alone. Unless they don’t breathe. Jack doesn’t breathe all the time, so he supposes it’s possible. He tries to crack an eye open, but the bit of light that shines through feels like it’s stabbing his eyeball, so he makes a sound that totally isn’t an unmanly whimper and yanks the quilt he’s tangled in up over his head and resolves to sleep some more, possible bed partner be damned.

Wait, he’s still dressed right?

A quick fumble answers that question in the affirmative, and Jack relaxes again with the intent to slip into slumber again. Not that he’s a prude or anything, but he’d at least like to remember his first time so he could write a thank you card or something, or a fruit basket maybe if they’d earned it. Hey, maybe Sandy will visit and there will be little sand bananas dancing above his head...

Jack wakes again feeling slightly less abysmal, but with no further ideas as to where he might be. He has the strength now to sit up, although he still feels drained. Truth be told he’d never been this tired before, never exerted himself to the point where he was this disoriented and uncomfortable after. Not even after the run-in with Pitch a few weeks ago... Admittedly though he was still recovering from the power use that altercation, and Bunny putting him through his paces, both in the garden and on the so-called training field certainly hadn’t helped... 

Oh hell, _Bunny._ Suddenly, Jack remembers everything, with an agonizing clarity that has him thumping back onto the bed with a groan of frustration. Bunny. The root of all Jack’s problems of late. Bunny with his shitty attitude and his eternal sour mood and his stupid fur and stupid rabbit-nose and long dumb ears and ridiculous Aussie accent. Jack groaned again, scrubbing at his face with his hands, which, he noticed belatedly were still grimy with topsoil. Here he was, still weak from the overusing his powers, control all shot to hell despite the work he’d been forced to put in, and more than likely dehydrated by the combination of his body fighting to temperature regulate in the warmth of the Warren combined with the hard labour he’d been doing for so many days. Could nothing in this day (evening, night, whatever) get any worse?

“Ya whine like an infant Frost. Couple glasses o’ water and you’ll be back on those grubby little feet o’ yers in no time.”

Y’know, one of these days, Jack will learn that asking himself those sorts of rhetorical questions does nothing but court trouble. That day is not today however, obviously.

“Glass ain’t good enough; bring a bucket. I’ll drink what I want, and drown myself in the rest.” Jack’s voice was hoarse from disuse, cracking once or twice during the sentence. The thought puts a frown on Jack’s face, the line furrowing between his brows. How long had he been under, dozing away blissfully unaware in Bunny’s nest? Were his clothes covered in Pooka fur now? Do giant lagomorphs get fleas? He is still dressed, right? Which is a dumb questions, because Jack can feel his hood bunched up uncomfortable under his neck. He’d adjust it, but he feels too lazy right now. Jack is staring dully at the ceiling of what looks to be a hollowed-out room underground, but not far enough underground that a window was impossible, although it was high up on the wall. The light had a certain golden quality to it that said it was either rising or setting, but Jack couldn’t tell which. So, evening or morning then. How many days after his collapse he couldn’t know unless he asked Bunny.

Bunny. _Hellfires and damnation,_ the rabbit must’ve scraped him up outta the dirt and carried him to bed like a Disney princess or something. Jack couldn’t help but frost over a bit at the shame; gearing up for some sort of damsel comment as Bunny’s footsteps approached the edge of what Jack knew now was probably his nest. Sure enough, Bunny’s head appeared in Jack’s field of vision, upside down and mouth twisted into what could’ve been either a scowl or really bad constipation, who knew. There was a soft thud as the bucket was set of the Jack’s left on the edge of the cushioned depression that made up Bunny’s nest. Turning his head to look out of the corner of his eye, Jack recognized it as the same bucket, or at least very similar, to the one Bunny used for drinking while working. 

“Gimme.” Jack grumbled, slowly rolling over toward the blessed source of water. It took a moment to get his legs beneath himself and push to his hands and knees, but Bunny didn’t move to help and Jack was grateful. He continued to hover like a concerned helicopter, but Jack could forgive him that all things considered. He had just spent the night swooned unconscious in the dude’s bed, the Pooka was probably hoping fervently for anything but a repeat performance. Shuffling on all fours in a way that was effective but far from dignified, Jack made his way up the side of the shallow cubby to where the live-giving liquid was waiting. Jack had barely scaled the edge before he was face first over the bucket, scooping the cool drink into the mouth with his hands. The first touch of waiter to his parched lips and tongue cause Jack to moan, deep and low with the sensation of it, a balm to the horrific thirst he’d been fighting back so long he’d stopped recognizing it for what it was. When scooping handfuls into his mouth proved to be less effective than Jack desired, he forwent the use of his cupped hand and stuck his whole face in, gulping water in great, heaving draughts. When his immediate thirst had slaked, Jack kept to his earlier word, shoving his whole head in the bucket to feel the coolness envelope him. The wetness against his overheated scalp was deliciously soothing, yet not enough. Pulling his head back, Jack ignored Bunny’s confused spluttering, instead heaving the half-empty bucket up to overturn into above his head, the cold water sluicing down through already soaked hair, winding in little trails down over his neck and drenching his shirt and the waistband of his pants. The heavy blue cotton clung to him almost obscenely, sucking to his too-warm skin, the moistened fabric working to aid Jack in regulating his temperature. It would take a couple hours and another bucket likely, but he’d be recovered enough for his usual antics in no time.

“Well done mate, now half the nest is soaked. If I’d a known you were looking for a bath, I would've just chucked you into the pond.” Bunny’s cutting tone came through the haze of Jack’s relief, immediately dampening his slowly blooming satisfaction. The scowl that came to Jack’s face would’ve killed a man, surely.

“I’d have just frozen it on contact, jerkface. Also, you’re the spring spirit, why don’t you dry it out? You were melting my ice just fine earlier today.” Bunny crowed his arms, glaring down at the sopping wet frost spirit with righteous indignation.

“That was yesterday, ya drongo, and honestly, I don’t care a bit, you’re the only one gonna be sleeping in it today.”

Jack had about a dozen snarky responses planned, but they all dried up at those words. “What do you mean, I’m sleeping here? News flash buster, apparently I’ve already have my solid eight hour overnight nap, so I’m going to take this bucket, wander down to said pond, drink my bodyweight and then get lost until I forget how ugly your face is. Might take a while, don’t panic if you don’t see me.” It wasn’t hard to make his words drip with sarcasm. Jack was an eternal teenager; sarcasm was pretty much his official second language. Well, sarcasm and penguin; those adorable little things had a surprisingly dry, candid sense of humour Jack couldn’t help but appreciate. Bunny however, didn’t seem nearly as appreciate of Jack’s sense of humour, if the angry twist of his lips was to be believed. 

“Well boyo, it’s like this. See, when a young, dumb bratty little bastard overdoes it on his mate’s turf cause he’s too stupid to take proper care of himself, his mate’s obligated to make sure he’s back in top shape. So you see, Little Jack...” and here, Bunny had started to lean forward, effectively looking of Jack who was still on his knees, wet hair slicked to his neck and eyelashes damp. “When a boy is dumb enough to do that, and his mate has to lose a whole day’s worth of productivity taking care o’ his sorry arse, it tends to put a rabbit into a mood. The right foul sort, as you can imagine. So here’s how it’s going to go. Yer gonna crawl right back in, to the nest _I gave up_ so you could be comfortable. Yer gonna lay there like the good boy _North thinks you can be_ until you’re over this little hiccup. Then yer gonna get that bony little arse of yours into a proper training regime until you figure out where your boundaries are, cause so help me MiM I ain’t putting up with your inability to manage yourself again, _savvy?_ ” Stepping back a bit, Bunny surveyed Jack like he was a particularly interesting bit of dirt caught in his footpad. “So back into bed with yeh, today’s for sleeping off your own stupidity.” Bunny snatches up the bucket, turning towards the door that Jack has just noticed beyond the edge of the nest. He doesn’t look back until he reaches it, pausing with one hand against the side of it, looking over his shoulder like an afterthought. “And, Jack? Don’t even think about leaving. You couldn’t outrace this Rabbit on a good day, and I’ve got your staff tucked away till you’re well enough to use it.” 

With those words, Bunny finally ducks out of the room, his footfalls disappearing quickly, swallowed up by distance and the soft earthen floors of his home. Left behind, Jack remains where he is; muted by shock and kneeling in a drying puddle on the floor beside Bunny’s bed. Jack stares at the empty doorway, ignoring the stinging heat of his eyes. It’s obviously just the soreness of one who hasn’t blinked enough, to Jack blinks plenty, rapidly, telling himself the wetness he’s holding back is just good lubrication for gritty-feeling corneas. Boys don’t cry, especially not over unmitigated bastards like the Easter Bunny.

Feeling both defiant and defeated in unison, Jack shuffles his way back into bed. While the drink and the dousing have helped, he’s still a long way from repaired, perhaps longer then the cares to admit to. He pushes away the niggling sensation that Bunny is right, is probably even justified, because Jack has been taking care of himself for three damn centuries before Bunny even gave a thought to his sorry ass. Jack yanks the quilt up over himself, straight over his head and burrowing into it in a little tiny ball of pique. Bunny wants to take care of him? Jack knows what this is, and fuck the rabbit and his misplaced sense of guilt anyways. The Pooka had nothing to be guilty for, cause Jack can take care of himself, and he’s gonna prove it.

Right after another nap, because his eyelids are heavy and the quilt is keeping the worst of the heat out, and Jack’s own innate coolness combined with the wetness of his clothing is making his little cocoon far too comfortable to resist.

So Bunny though he could handle Jack Frost up in his face full time and win? Well, let him, he didn’t know what he was getting into. By tomorrow he’d be begging for Jack to leave, probably for good.

One way or another, Jack would make sure of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've had a lot of people comment that Bunny's being mean to Jack, and the fact of the matter is that yeah, he is. These are two characters who've done nothing other than butt heads for decades, at least. Now that they find themselves in something of a forced truce, they have no idea how to deal with the other. They both have preconceived notions, they both have biases and prejudices against each other, and they both have rather epic amounts of baggage on top of all that. Don't worry, Jack will give as good as he gets, but truthfully speaking this is not a fluff fic like my Heart(h) verse, or my Homework verse. This will get worse before it gets better, if it in fact gets better at all. If this is troubling, then this might not be the story for you.
> 
> Hopefully I haven't scared too many people away, but I felt it needed to be addressed just due to the number of comments I'm receiving in this vein. Those of you still interested, thanks, and I'll try not to keep you waiting so long for the next chapter.


	5. Will They Hold You To It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Looking down at Jack as the boy looked up, blinking his wide blue eyes up almost dumbly in confusion, Aster couldn’t help but think that the kid was positively adorable when he wasn’t been a soul-destroying little bastard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, real life has been somewhat overwhelming of late, and this chapter just didn't want to come on the rare occasions I did have the time to write. When it finally did though, it came in longer than any chapter yet, so hurrah for that at least! Enjoy, and thanks for your patience!

“THIS IS THE SONG THAT DOESN’T EEEND! YES IT GOES ON AND ON MY FRIEEEEENDS! SOME PEOPLE STARTED SINGING IT NOT KNOWING WHAT IS WAAAS, AND THEY’LL CONTINUE SINGING IT FOREVER JUST BECAUSE THIS IS THE SONG THAT DOESN’T EEEND! YES IT GOES...”

The obnoxiously loud and off-key singing, if you could even call it that, cut off abruptly as Aster slammed the front door behind him. Stomping out to the field, Aster threw himself headfirst into his planting. Four days of looking after Jack’s incapable arse, and what did he have to show for it? A _headache!_ A full-blown, pounding, throbbing, MiM-be-damned HEADACHE; caused no doubt by Jack’s unending, infernal racket. Also the heavy metal tray Aster had taken to the head probably made its fair share of contribution; having been thrown by Jack in a fit of pique when Aster had _dared_ to have the _audacity_ to bring lunch to the boy’s sickbed...

Oh. Wait. That would be _Aster’s_ bed the little wretch had taken up in, which did absolutely nothing butt lend to his bad mood, considering the crap amount of sleep he’d been subsisting on. Aster’s burrow was a humble abode, and seldom used beyond his simple kitchen and his nestroom, where most of his homey touches had been focused. Meaning, that Aster had been relegated to his own couch; an awful, overstuffed scarlet monstrosity gifted to him by North so many decades ago that only the ambient magic of the Warren had kept it from becoming a moth-eaten relic in a long-forgotten drawing room. So, every night, when Aster bunked down, he did so on the Crimson Beast, his over-long body spilling over the armrests at either end. More days then not Aster had awoken with his feet kicking into the dusty pianoforte that took up the opposite corner of the cramped little room. The instrument had also been a gift, and hadn’t been tuned or even touched in so long that Aster was sure even looking at it funny would result in immediate collapse into a pile of kindling and wire.

Aster sighed, feeling the soothing repetition of planting winding his nerves down from bowstring-taught to merely tense. It was a bad situation all around. Jack was far more worn down then he’d let on. Perhaps even more then the egghead had realized himself. About eighty-percent of his days were still spent napping away in Aster’s bed, snuggled so far down under the comforter that he nearly disappeared under its folds. To be honest, Aster hadn’t quite realized how tiny Jack was until he’d seen him dwarfed inside his nest. Not that the nest wasn’t quite large to begin with, Aster himself could’ve taken half a dozen lovers simultaneously to its depths without fearing a lack of space, but Jack, beneath the blankets was a frail, delicate thing. The kiss of his eyelashes like butterfly wings to his cheekbones, obscuring the faintest hint of freckles found there. Jack’s fine-boned wrists and ankles gave way to diminutive hands and feet, almost doll-like in their porcelain perfection. The kid should have been clumsy and awkward, caught forever on the precipice of puberty; his voice deep but his face childlike. His knees and elbows were knobby like a young boy’s, but his limbs were the elongated coltishness found after a growth spurt. Jack was an artist’s dream; he should have been homely, but instead he was a study in contradictions, all soft edges and hard angles hodge-podged together with cheeky grins and an almost malicious touch to his sense of humour. At times, Aster wasn’t sure if he wanted to kill the kid and bury him deep, or peel him up like a label off a soup can so he could touch the very bones of him.

Shaking his head with confusion, Aster decided to shrug off the thoughts of Jack for now and concentrate on his planting instead. Relishing the press of moist earth between his fingers and into the pads on his palm, Aster continued, feeling even more of his previous stress bleed away. The fields were coming along well; and despite what he’d told Jack about wasting time nursing him along, in truth Aster was still ahead of schedule. Even thought the boy had been struggling, first with learning a new skill and then with controlling his haywire magic, he’d accomplished far more in the past few weeks then Aster had thought possible. It was entirely certain at this point, that if the boy kept up with helping at this pace, Aster would not only catch up, but overshoot his targets for next Easter. He could come back with a bang, for sure. That is, assuming the daft brat would _let himself get better._ Resigning himself to the never-ending procession of Jack-related thoughts, Aster sighed, letting the rhythm of his work soothe him as he pondered his unhappy houseguest. True, Jack was sleeping well, but the times he was awake he was surly, withdrawn and downright difficult to deal with. He shouted, cursed fit to offend most sailors, hollered abuse, threw anything in his immediate vicinity that might potentially cause harm to Aster’s person and just in general was the biggest arsehole of a patient Aster had ever seen. Which, Aster might have been able to cope with if Jack was getting better and there was an end in sight, but he wasn’t. Probably because he refused to eat, or drink enough to properly rehydrate. Instead Jack would sip at the smallest amount of liquid possible to prevent himself from swooning like a virginal maiden and was abstaining from actual nutrition entirely. Already Aster could see the hollows of Jack’s cheeks deepening, the jut of his hipbones under worn leather becoming more prominent.

The boy’s body was already the scarcity of winter personified; much more and Aster feared they would lose him. 

It was a stubborn persistent feared that had been niggling at him night and day since Aster had figured out exactly how sick the kid had been. When Aster had first tucked him into his nest after he’d fainted, he’d been shocked to see the motley collection of half-healed injuries, likely form the fiasco with Pitch. Injuries that, as an immortal should have long-healed, but hadn’t, likely due to the fact that the boy was so run down that his overwhelmed system simply couldn’t cope. The expenditure of energy on the practise grounds was the final straw in a steady downward decline. Aster had been trying to convince himself for the past few days that Jack wouldn’t let it go that far, that the boy wasn’t suicidal, simply stubborn and stupid with it. That the boy would cave to his hunger and restlessness soon enough and make steps to hasten is recovery, if only to escape from Aster’s admittedly peevish company. Pooka’s were known for their bullheaded tendencies; there was no way a, underfed little scamp of a child could possibly outdo the eons of practice Aster had put toward this particular trait. It seemed however that the boy was capable of holding out far longer then he’d anticipated, enough to make Aster wonder if fading away into nothing wasn’t perhaps the boy’s ultimate goal. Aster let his thoughts run backwards over their interactions the last few weeks, straight from the days leading up to Easter right through to the tray incident this morning, looking for anything telling, hoping that something would stick out enough to provide a clue to cracking Jack like a code breaker.

_“If yeh wanna fade, that’s your choice mate, sounds like you don’t care to me.”_

Aster remembered the deliberately provocative statement. At the time he’d been poking the dragon with intent, trying to discern if the boy indeed didn’t care, or if he perhaps just didn’t understand the importance of managing his believers. Jack had been defensive, for sure, but it hadn’t been the defensiveness of a person trying to cover the truth of a statement, more the defensiveness of the deeply offended. So no, Aster didn’t think Jack was looking to just give up; not then, and not now. No, the boy definitely had something to prove, a point he was trying to make with his little tantrum here. Aster just had to figure out his game plan, and how to countermand it. Suddenly, it came back to him, the realization sending a jolt of shock own his spine, making his fur stand on end.

_“You say it like you don’t think you’ve earned them. The believers, I mean.”_

Aster remembered how silent Jack had been after that, how still. 

Oh, MiM, that was it, wasn’t it. Aster could suddenly see the whole picture, like he’d been staring at a half-solved jigsaw in the dark, and while the puzzle was still incomplete he’d at least found the light switch. He had forgotten, pushed the exchange aside because it reminded him of the moment he’d been walked through. He’d let it go to protect himself from his own pain, and had let slip from his mind what Jack has responded with, what he’d _said,_ to spare himself the discomfort of it.

 _“I break stuff, you know. Things, rules, Easters... You tell me what I’ve earned.”_

Aster’s answer was right there, and had been there all along.

Cursing himself for seven kinds of a fool, Aster took off at a run toward his burrow. He was halfway to the nestroom when he stopped himself, realizing that he would accomplish nothing but mucking this all up if he simply charged in there without a proper course of action. It took only a moment of thinking before his feverishly whirling brain made its decisions. Aster stepped back outside just long enough to fetch Jack’s staff from where he’d stashed it on the roof of the burrow, where he’d been banking on Jack simply not considering it a viable hiding place to work in his favour. Back in the kitchen, he ladled some porridge, tepid but probably more to Jack’s tastes then piping hot, into a bowl. He forwent the tray this time, hoping to minimize the amount of ammo he was providing the teenager with, instead simply sticking the spoon into the bowl and carrying it in hand along with the staff down the hall. Upon entering, Aster found Jack fast asleep, something which was becoming a regular site as the boy sought to conserve much-needed energy. Really though, the silence along was a dead giveaway that the boy had conked out again, as every waking moment was spent being as loud and obnoxious as possible. 

Of course, for Aster’s purposes now, this just wouldn’t do. So setting down both bowl and staff on the floor beyond the edge of the nest and therefore, due to the sloping sides, out of Jack’s line of site, Aster made his way down until he was standing over the reclined form, ready to action. Then without further ado, Aster let out a triumphant battle-cry as he reached down and yanked the blanket clean off the dozing youth.

The result was Jack making a noise between a squeak and a howl, flailing about into an upright position, hands scrabbling at his sides for the missing blanket, or possibly a weapon. It took the boy’s sleep-addled mind a few moments to realize that he was now nose-to-furry-knee with his attacker. Looking down at Jack as the boy looked up, blinking his wide blue eyes up almost dumbly in confusion, Aster couldn’t help but think that the kid was positively adorable when he wasn’t been a soul-destroying little bastard. Carefully stepping away from the volatile male, Aster worked his way back until he was a more appropriate two feet of personal space away from the still-drowsy boy. He debated tossing the blanket aside, but figured that, in the event of a violent outburst, it could be used as a defensive item.

“Rise and shine Jackie-o, we have a lot of get-bettering to do today, if’n you please!”

Looking to be in total shock and awe, Jack’s mouth opened as if to speak, then closed, and then opened again to emit a groan, before the boy planted his face in his hands, scrubbing at his eyes. Aster couldn’t help but notice how grubby they were. Clearly a bath would be required at some point; a proper one, not a quick splash-down in the washbowl. Also, Aster thought, looking at the muddy cuffs of Jack’s once-blue hoodie, laundry would be required as well. Aster carefully suppressed the shudder at the thought of having another filthy, grimy body dirtying up his personal tub, and then later another person’s clothes, including _unmentionables_ being scrubbed in the same. At this point, he was committed; it was a necessary evil, and Aster could just douse the thing in bleach water after, if required. 

“The fuck you want, Bunny?” Aster’s attention snapped back onto Jack as they boy grumbled at him, face still cradled in his palms. He looked a fright, skin so pale he was nearly translucent, exhaustion seeping from every pore. The kid was in a poor way, and there was only one thing to do. 

“I got a proposition for you mate you ready to listen?” Finally lifting his head, Jack favoured Aster with a pointed glare, blue eyes only enhanced by the dark smudges beneath. 

“I’m listening of you talk fast, else I’m going back to bed.”

“Right, well then, here you go.” With a flourish, Aster stretched an arm to where the staff had been left, and dropped it into Jack’s lap. The boy sat, stunned into silence for a moment, before carefully taking the worn wood into hand. Aster had to fight hard not to physically react when, instead of frost blooming across the entire surface as usual, the swirling patterns barely even manifested beneath Jack’s hands before they melting in moderate heat of the air. Jack noticed immediately of course, and couldn’t quite hold back his flinch. It didn’t stop him from hugging the staff to his chest like a lost child, and Aster felt a curl of guilt in his stomach, wondering if he hadn’t inadvertently made things worse by trying to endure the child stayed put. 

“So, there you go boyo, got your staff back. Like you said this morning, you don’t need me, or my help, so you can just get right on moving then, can’t you.” Jack stared at Aster for a moment, chapped lips slightly parted, like he couldn’t quite comprehend what Aster was saying. Sensing it was the right thing to do, Aster pushed a bit harder searching for a response. “So, you’ll be vacating soon then, yes?” It took the boy a moment to respond, like the words were getting lost somewhere between his brain and those thin, chapped lips.

“Yeah, yeah I’ll get gone, no problem.” The statement wasn’t as confident as Jack was obviously trying to make it, but Aster ignored the hesitation, carrying forward instead.

“Well that’s all roses there then, ain’t it. Tell you what though, you leave now, you don’t come back. If you don’t need my help, then I certainly don’t need yours.” At least, Aster got the reaction he’d been seeking. Jack suddenly straightened, probably would have leapt to his feet if he’d had the strength to do so.

“You can’t! You can’t make me! I need to be here!”

“Because you feel guilty about this past Easter?” Jack stopped abruptly, any possible comeback dying in his throat. Aster stared at him, into this wide eyes, ignoring the suddenly wetness of them. The boy’s lips trembled a bit, and for a moment Aster thought he might cry, but Jack pulled himself together, responding in a voice that was steadier then Aster had expected. 

“Yeah, well you only helped me because you felt bad about the _three centuries I spent alone,_ asshole.” Steadier, and far more vicious. Who’d have thought that the Guardian of Fun would be such an expert at pointed verbal attacks? 

Aster, that’s who, having been subjected to them enough in the past while to know what was coming, and had, in fact, been counting on it, despite the surge of guilt that welled up at the truth of it.

“You’re absolutely spot on their, mate. So he’s the deal; you buck up, start taking care of yourself. Yeh get yer arse out of the sickbed and back onto that training field. You learn how to handle yourself, how to take care of yourself, properly, none of this half-arsed horseshit you’ve been doing, and if you do well enough, then I let you help in the fields.” Here Aster crouched down, lowering himself to Jack’s level so he could meet his eyes head-on, faces only a foot apart. “You see, Jackie, I figured it out. I know yeh feel bad, and that’s fine. You should; we needed you, and you weren’t there. We trusted you, and whether you meant to or not you broke that trust. But I know that yer not the only one who feels bad, who needs to pay penance to feel better. So, let’s even it up then, yeah? No more of these histrionics, you’re only hurting yourself.”

Jack looked away, unable to hold Aster’s gaze. Aster remained crouched, letting the quiet stretch one for a good five minutes. When jack didn’t appear ready to speak, Aster sighed, standing to leave the boy to think. He’d barely turned his back when Jack’s quiet voice stopped him.

“Wait.” Aster turned around again, gazing down at the huddled form of the teen in his bed. “Wait, Bunny. I’ll do it.” Bunny arched an eyebrow.

“And you’ll stick to your word.” Instantly the fire returned, Jack’s head whipping up and all traces of his easy submission disappearing.

“I said I would, didn’t I? What, you want a contract in blood?” Aster couldn’t help the tight smile that appeared at Jack’s passion.

“Naw, yer word’ll do.” Jack nodded then, mouth pressed into a tight line, obviously more a grudging agreement than anything, but Aster figured it was better an understanding then they’d had yet so far, and was unwilling to push any further. Jack’s compliance secured, Aster figured it was time to test this limits of the newfound truce. “Fantastic. Now then, step one. Food.” Aster reached over the edge of the nest again, finding the bowl of porridge. He then plonked himself down unceremoniously beside the boy’s hip, hefting a hearty spoonful in the hand not holding the bowl. “Well, c’mon now Jackie! Open wide for the choo choo train!” Eyes glowing with unholy glee, Aster couldn’t help but goad the boy, just a little bit, if only in payback for the last few days’ worth of annoyance. Jack’s responding glower may have been absolutely poisonous, but the following vicious grin was even more terrifying, because Aster knew what was coming.

“I KNOW A SONG THAT GETS ON EVERYBODY’S NERVES; ON EVERYBODY’S NERVES, YES ON EVERYBODY’S NERVES...”

“DAMMIT JACK FROST!” Aster hollered, dropping the bowl and spoon into Jack’s lap as the rushed to make a tactical retreat from the killzone, tripping twice on the blanket as he went. He bolted for the door, turning back at the last moment. “And eat the damned porridge!” Jack saluted him sarcastically as Aster made to leave.

“Oh captain, my captain!” Jack’s reply as Aster slipped out the door still had the biting cruelty to it that had been characterizing their interactions for the last few days, but Aster had confidence that, if relations between them didn’t get any better, they at least had some common ground now that could help them from getting worse.

Now, the next move was in Jack’s hands. Aster could do nothing but wait, and possibly hope that, if Jack decided to continue lashing out verbally, he’d stop singing at a volume usually reserved for thrash metal concerts, and go back to reciting dirty limericks. Those at least Aster had found somewhat amusing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those curious:
> 
> [The Song That Doesn't End](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HNTxr2NJHa0) (for those that don't recognize the show, it was called Lamb Chop's Play Along, and was a staple of my childhood.)  
> [The Song That Gets on Everybody's Nerves](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qj1heGiIehU) (great for road trips with your parents!)


	6. Have You Done Enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously Jack had only had a vague idea of what he looked like; thin face, blue eyes, white hair. Seeing himself with crystal clarity for the first time and been both fascinating, and a little horrifying. After that the sight of his own face had always set Jack a bit on edge. He avoided his reflection in shop windows, and made scarce if he somehow encountered a mirror. Now though, standing in front of the wall-mounted full length, Jack found himself fighting the urge to look.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, sorry for all the delays! Real life has been somewhat overwhelming, as of late. Not to mention I was sidetracked with anew multichapter, totally and accident FYI, plus I have a third in the works. 
> 
> So yes, more fic is coming, In the meantime, enjoy.

Jack stared angrily; gaze powered by the force of a thousand fiery suns worth of riotous fury. Jack glared with all his might, like his nemesis could be cowed by nothing but sheer force of will alone. Jack mentally threw little daggers of hate with his eyeballs, in the futile hopes of defeating this most heinous of foe from a distance.

Before him, the bathtub sat innocently and unperturbed by the loathing being projected at it, steam curling in lazy wisps off the placid surface. To anyone else, the tub might look inviting, tempting, relaxing. To Jack it looked like a man-sized torture device. Or, well, Pooka sized, to be honest you could probably fit three of Jack in there without touching either the sides or each other. Huffing in frustration, Jack spun around, stalking across the bathing room to the large mirror. Mirrors and Jack had a strange relationship. For most of his immortal life, mirrors were nothing but a patch of smooth ice, or perhaps a bit of still water. It wasn’t until mankind had begun to build their cities from glass and steel as opposed to wood and brick that Jack had seen his first proper mirror. The smooth surface had intrigued him, as had the face staring back at him, Previously Jack had only had a vague idea of what he looked like; thin face, blue eyes, white hair. Seeing himself with crystal clarity for the first time and been both fascinating, and a little horrifying. After that the sight of his own face had always set Jack a bit on edge. He avoided his reflection in shop windows, and made scarce if he somehow encountered a mirror. Now though, standing in front of the wall-mounted full length, Jack found himself fighting the urge to look. He didn’t fight long though, and, carefully propping his staff against the wall, gave in to the urge and began to strip, dumping his filthy clothes in an untidy heap on the floor to his left. He stood there still as death; eyes closed for a full ten-count, before he took a deep breath and opened them.

The boy in the mirror is more than skinny, he is frail. He’s lost weight; he knows he has, because not only has he gone off of eating, it’s begun to show on his delicate frame, which was always narrow but now looks emaciated. He’s so underfed that his stomach is nearly concave, his ass so flat there is no delineation between lower back and upper thigh. The jut of collarbones is pronounced, every rib is accounted for under too-thin skin, and his shoulder blades stick out like bony wings. It’s worse than that though, and Jack can’t blame it all on his recent fasting and illness, poor genetics have to be blamed at some point. Looking at himself like this, Jack can see that he’s all arm and leg and neck, like some kind of pale, malformed Giraffe. Comparatively, his knees and elbows are massive; knobby, ugly things that he never grew into. His hands and feet are sharp, awkward, with nails ragged from running barefoot or habitual biting. As for his face; well, narrow is perhaps being generous, pointy would probably be better, especially now, when his cheekbones are sharp enough to cut and his eyes, once believed to be his best feature, are sunken and so heavily shadowed they looked bruised. Jack’s mouth is too thin and narrow for even masculine beauty, his ears stick out like beacons and his hair is a lost cause, the wind forever tugging it into a tangled mop. 

Yeah, Jack’s a stunner, all right. At least his teeth are good, as Tooth and her fairies are so fond of pointing out. 

Scowling, Jack turns away from the mirror, disappointed as always. More often than not, now that he had his memories back, Jack found himself missing the boy he’d been, with the warm brown eyes and chocolate hair. That boy had looked softer, approachable. That boy had all the time in the world to grow into gangly limbs, to master and take ownership of his body, as opposed to being perpetually stuck being ruled by it. Mostly though, that boy had a family, people to care for his and nurture him that weren’t overgrown lagomorphs with shitty attitudes. If it wasn’t for the fact that Jack’s pale skin was nearly as grey at Pitch’s in some places with ground-in dirt, he’d had said a nice big FUCK-YOU to Bunny’s bathing edict and made a break for the outside world, deal be damned.

Which was a nice thought, but honestly, Jack was starting to smell himself, and it wasn’t pretty. Not to mention that, while he’d never admit to it, even under duress, Jack didn’t believe he’d even have the strength to fly away right now. In fact, he’d had to lean so heavily on his staff just to walk to the bathroom without being carried that Jack was sure Bunny had figured it out. Why the other spirit hadn’t said anything though, Jack didn’t know. Although, being mollycoddled the whole way would have been worse, so Jack was grudgingly grateful that his fellow Guardian had kept his mouth shut. 

Without his staff, Jack could feel himself sway a bit in place, sore muscles slowly protesting the effort required to keep him upright and in motion. Jack threw another glare at the bathtub, hating it’s very existence but knowing he was going to cave and get in anyway, if only to no longer be vertical. It’s not that Jack has some weird kind of aquaphobia or anything, it’s just that submersion in water of more than just his feet to the ankles, or hands to the elbow tended to remind him of the icy-cold shock of hitting the water, punching the air out of him and wrapping steel bands around his lungs until everything had gone black, limbs that had been jerking with knife-like pains stilling as the last vestiges of life had slipped away. Jack knew now that he’d been gone within a couple of minutes, but in all his terrified recollections, those moments last hours. While he’d never regret the sacrifice he’d made for his sister, Jack hasn’t been wildly crazy about baths since he opened that memory box and relived the experience, thank you very much.

Biting the bullet, Jack carefully eased himself down into the tub, which was submerged in the floor like a personal-sized swimming pool. The water wasn’t nearly as hot as Bunny undoubtedly liked it and had cooled a bit further during Jack’s introspection, but it was still warm enough that Jack couldn’t quite suppress a moan cause by pure temperature sensation. Residual nerves dropped the water temp another couple degrees, but without his staff and as weak as he was, Jack knew the water didn’t stand a chance of icing. The extent of the weakness in him was worrisome to think of, and exacerbated by sitting in a puddle of death, but Jack pushed the anxiety aside, forcing himself to relax into it instead. Tremors of lingering fear still slithered along the back of Jack’s neck, but he ignored them, instead focussing on working the provided bar of soap into a rich, lavender-scented lather. Jack work hurriedly, racing against his discomfort, but also being as thorough as possible, knowing that being properly clean would be a luxury unheard of once he returned for good to Burgess, where the only bath available would be the pond he’d drowned in, which was a big fat NO. Also, now that he had believers, bathing in public might not be as acceptable as it once had been. Assuming course, he didn’t just freeze the water solid, as per usual.

Damn drowning death. Jack gave it a 0/10; would not recommend to others. Gradually though, Jack began to relax a bit, aided by the fact that he was easily tall enough, even short as he was to stand up and keep his head clear above water. Soon, he’d calmed enough to be able to enjoy the pleasure of a warm bath, the feeling of sloughing off layers of dirt and grime to be clean again. After so long, the experience was nearly sensual, and Jack could help making a soft noise of appreciation for the sensation.

“Well lookit that, there is in fact a winter sprite hidden under all that muck.” Jack yelped, startled by Bunny’s sudden nearness, throwing himself to the other side of the bath and spinning to put his back to the opposite edge, arms gripping the sides to lever himself out in a jiffy if needed, his shock cooling the water even further until it was barely tepid. Glaring up at the other man, Jack bared his teeth with something close to a snarl, hoping to convey his absolute displeasure at the surprise entrance. For his part, Bunny just raised one eyebrow in response. It was then that Jack noticed his hoodie and pants thrown over one furry arm.

“Hey, where you making off with those, I’m going to need them in a minute!” Bunny blinked a moment, as if confused.

“These things? Frostbite, there’s more dirt on them that fabric in them, they need a proper scrub. Once you’re done splashing about, I’ll be draining and refilling it for laundry. They’ll be clean and dry by sunup.”

“And what am I supposed to do until then genius? Wander about naked like you? Oh wait, some of us don’t have a built-in fur coat to hide our pride and joy.” Jack sunk lower into the water, letting the liquid come right up to his chin, hoping that the soap suds would help with hiding said ‘pride and joy’ for the extent of the conversation. If Jack had been expecting Bunny to be embarrassed by the conversation, he was sorely disappointed when the other reacted only with amusement.

“Please kid, ain’t nothing you’ve got that I don’t, except probably bigger and better on me, naturally.” Bunny’s tone was casual, but with a wicked edge, and despite himself Jack felt the frost spread across his cheekbones in a cold blush. His obvious embarrassment seemed to please Bunny enough for the topic to be dropped however, and the other proceeded to hold up a garment approximately the size of a small circus tent. “Anyways, the Jack Frost Naked Hour won’t be necessary; I’ve got a bathrobe here for when you’re done.”

Jack couldn’t’ help but gape for a minute at the large green hunk of terrycloth. While it looked comfortable enough, it also looked big enough for him and Bunny to share, and wow, where did that thought come from, and while we’re at it, hello again blush. 

“Bunny! I can’t wear that! It’s huge! It’ll be like, a, well, a big green dress! I mean, I’m forward thinking, but I draw the line at dressing like a chick.” Which Jack totally did, cause skirts looked too breezy for his tastes and he was always flying so people could just look right up there at his junk, and who thought that wrapping a tiny bit of fabric around the hips was a practical wardrobe option, anyways? Bunny for his part simply threw his head back and laughed, and Jack was suddenly struck by the weirdness of the moment; here he was, naked in the bath, with Bunny of all people. Not in the bath with him, just in the room. And not naked, well, no more naked then he always was, which was weird on its own, so technically there were naked together, and Jack was wet and the earlier warmth of the water had done funny things to him, so he might’ve been just a little bit hard even though his embarrassment had killed it, mostly. Not quite completely, though maybe, and wow, okay, Aster had nice teeth too, very white and even despite looking nothing like human teeth. Which is about the only thing they have in common at all, and wow Jack, it is definitely time to get a grip! With a mighty yank Jack reigned in both libido and shame, though just barely. 

“Well if you’re through having a chuckle at my expense, you could drop the ladies evening wear and leave me to it. Unless you want to watch?” Jack’s tone on the last sentence was biting, daring, and Bunny stopped laughing, a calculating flash in his eyes as he gave Jack a once over. Jack had risen out of the water a couple inches while speaking without realizing it, exposing the curve of his shoulders and the lines of his biceps and forearms to the cooler air, the temperature discrepancy raising gooseflesh along his arms and making his nipples pebble even beneath the water and out of Bunny’s line of site. The other regarded him for a long moment, probably too long, and Jack felt like a butterfly pinned to a board and under a magnifying glass. He wanted to duck under the water entirely; hide his face, hide his undesirability beneath the surface, but he held firm, holding Bunny’s gaze until the rabbit looked away, green eyes skating over Jack’s body like the water was transparent to his gaze. This was just another competition, Jack told himself, unable to quite suppress the shiver cause by the inspection. This was just another jab at each other, another way to poke until they bruised, the way they always did. Yet, even as Jack tried to convince himself, the air seeming to stretch taut between them, rife with some sort of unspoken implication that Jack wasn’t sure he fully understood. Then, Bunny shrugged casually and the moment broke. Folding the robe and laying it down within easy reach of the tub, Bunny sauntered over to where a washboard had been left lying, dumping Jack’s dirty clothes on top of it in preparation for later washing.

“Well, get on with it then, ice boy. Time’s a wastin’.” Bunny said over his shoulder, not deigning to look at Jack behind him. “Sooner you get back onto those toes of yours the sooner we get you whipped into shape.” His piece now said, Bunny made for the door, only to pause just before exiting. 

“Y’know kid, no funny business in that tub, yeah?” Green eyes met blue as Bunny looked back over his shoulder at Jack, gaze full of a meaning that Jack took a moment to catch.

“Funny business? I don’t know what you... oh, OH, EW, Bunny! No, I wasn’t I mean I wouldn’t, just, fucking hell, GET OUT!” Jack was tempted to toss the bar of soap at those stupid rabbit ears to illustrate his point, it being the only thing at hand, but then he’d be forced to climb out and cross the room wet and nude and still half-dirty to get it back, which was a more alarming prospect then letting Bunny get away with his naughty accusations. Again though, Jack was apparently more hilarious than intimidating, because Bunny just laughed; a rich, vibrant sound that caught strangely in Jack’s chest and belly.

“Well kiddo, I will say this...” Bunny turned from the door, taking a couple steps back into the room to put him closer to the tub, and Jack was suddenly hyper aware that again he’d stood up during his little speech, and was now bare to the waist before the other man, droplets of water running from his hairline down his chest and stomach to meet the surface, which came up to just above his navel. When Bunny spoke, Jack was transfixed, unable to ignore him, their eyes catching and holding.

“I don’t know what you were doing when I walked in, but I don’t make noises like that in the bath without getting up to a little something, if yeh catch my drift, mate.” Bunny’s grin was a flash of pure evil, and it left Jack gaping as he wandered away nearly cackling with manic glee. Once he was gone, Jack closed his mouth with an audible snap, sinking back into decidedly cool water. Well, he still had a bath to finish, so he’d better get to it, and try not to think about what Bunny had implied he’d been doing earlier. Or what Bunny had also implied that he did in this very tub...

Those were not good thoughts, not good at all, not about a six foot tall fuzzy animal with an ugly temper. Determined, Jack shoved all thoughts of masturbation, his own or otherwise from his mind, and set to work on finger-combing the dirt clods out of his hair, aided by a generous handful of soap bubbles. 

And if he spent the rest of the bath with an awkward boner, well, he was an eternal teenager; a nice pattern on the linoleum could make him hard. Nothing more to it than that, really.


	7. And the World Turned 'Round

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was something about Jack, some feeling he inspired beyond the negative ones Aster had begun to associate with him, something that he couldn’t quite put his finger on but it intrigued him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delay, I have some real life stuff on the go at the moment keeping me away from my writing. Next up will be a chapter of What Doesn't Kill You, followed by another chapter of Hope and Ruin, and well, you get the idea :) If it take a couple weeks though, rest assured I'm working on it, and I have no intentions of leaving either of these fics abandoned!

The blue hoodie plunged into the wash water with a force usually reserved for throwing a hard right hook, and then began jerking up and down the washboard with extreme prejudice. The fabric, darkened to a deep shade of navy by water saturation, frothed with a rich lather, the scent of lemon and patchouli in the air. Aster knew he should ease up; now that he had the fabric in his hand he could feel how worn it was, how threadbare and thin it had become after years, perhaps even more than a decade of constant wear. While it was butter-soft to the touch, he could see the places where the stitches were loosening, threatening to come free at any moment, probably when Jack was spinning carelessly through the air, the harsh tug of the wind carrying him shredding the last vestiges of the seams until the whole thing fell apart, exposing far too much pale skin to sweet sunlight...

Aster snarled, giving the shirt one last furious scrub before rinsing it more harshly then required. When he finally deemed it clean and yanked it out of the tub, he found himself wringing it with an almost violent and completely unnecessary forcefulness. Done with the shirt, Aster chucked it into the basket he’d brought just to hold the cleaned laundry and snatched up Jack’s pants instead. Sturdy linen, they looked much older and far more worn then even the hoodie. Setting them to the washboard, Aster resolved to be gentler, but found it difficult to reign in his temper when the act of washing just begged to be used as an outlet for his frustrations.

Let it be known that, for all the times that Jack has aroused Aster’s frustrations, never before had those frustrations been sexual. Heh, aroused was right, all puns intended, and Aster felt the scowl stretch across his face at the insistent but unwanted throbbing between his legs. Stuffing down the physical reaction as best he could, Aster mentally smacked the little voice in his head that was finding the whole thing hilarious. Really, E. Aster Bunnymund, last of the Pooka, Warrior, Scholar, Guardian of Hope, reduced to busying his hands with mindless dirty work in an effort to still his overactive imagination. The very same imagination that kept reminding him that only a couple of hours ago Jack had been naked; wet and warm and soapy in this very tub. Aster remembered the boy pressed against the side of the tub; defensive and yet defiant as always, sneering at Aster with all the considerable force of his personality behind him, pale and far too thin and frail, water droplets cutting interesting pathways over the sharpness of his exposed collarbones. The boy was underfed, sickly, yet his eyes shone with cold fire, his thin lips curled enticingly with his anger, even as the water matting his hair to his scalp made prominent ears stand out further. For a moment, Jack had looked both fierce and ridiculous in ways that Aster had never, could never have imagined the Guardian of Fun to look. 

Suddenly it was like the world had changed, or maybe shifted two steps to the left and all the things Aster had thought he’d known now sat slightly off centre to him. Previously, Jack had always been an awkward creature, socially clumsy and over-enthusiastic in mostly all the wrong ways, at least as far as Aster had been concerned. Sure, the kid was fantastic with the children, perhaps better than any of the rest of them, but Aster’s hadn’t considered him much good for anything beyond that. It hadn’t mattered anyways, they weren’t required to be best bosom buddies to work together at Guardians, so now that they had a grudging truce in place Aster figured he was in the clear to ignore the little hellion until he either A) messed with Easter again, or B) an emergency cropped up that required all hands on deck.

Then the boy had waltzed into his Warren, looking sullen but determined and Aster had found himself with a snowy little shadow. Their fragile ceasefire had been put to the test, and more than once Aster had thought that the moment had come to call an end to the cessation of hostilities, if only to have an excuse to punch the smug little bastard in his smirky little face. Yet, Aster had rode out the urge, holding himself back because Jack had held himself back, and Aster refused to be the one to cave first. But then, without consciously deciding too, Aster had found himself, watching, listening, and paying attention to the boy instead of just happily ignoring the extra body slouching about his Warren. There was something about Jack, some feeling he inspired beyond the negative ones Aster had begun to associate with him, something that he couldn’t quite put his finger on but it intrigued him. Aster had put it off as simple curiosity, now that he’d uncovered the other side of Jack, the one that ran deeper than just fun and games, something that stretched almost dangerously close to responsibility and accountability and restitution. Something that made Aster... well, uncomfortable wasn’t quite the right word, but some form of disquiet had settled upon him like an itch whenever he thought too hard about Jack and his motivations and reasons for being here, for driving himself so hard, for pushing and pushing and pushing until he’d almost broken himself, like all that had mattered had been proving a point. Like all that Jack had cared about was Aster and what he’d thought of Jack and damn everything else including the consequences until Jack had either won some unspecified contest between them or killed himself trying. Quite literally kill himself; with how weak he was Aster was surprised Jack hadn’t keeled over days earlier. He’d been coming to the Warren for a little over a month before his collapse, and at the time that Aster had first drug him into the nest to care for him it had been made clear that Jack was still suffering from wounds delivered by Pitch’s hands, wounds that should have long healed, except Jack hadn’t spared the energy to do so. No, he was too busy fighting a war on all fronts; against himself, against his own body, against the energies of the Warren, so unlike his own and against Aster, too. No wonder the dumb kid had conked out face first into the dirt; he’d spread himself so thin he’d come up empty handed on the other side. 

At first Aster had resented Jack the care he required to get better. Aster, for all his love of children wasn’t thrilled about having to play nursemaid to an immortally snot-nosed teenager. Jack had enough attitude to kill with a glance, and his rough edges were downright dangerous to others, but Aster had chosen to endure because he did owe Jack for the consideration he’d shown and the help he’d been providing, and Aster paid his debts, always. Also, he was nothing if not a good host and having one’s houseguest swoon away like a medieval maiden was a poor reflection on himself at the very least. But then, Jack had defied him, mouthed off in the way he’d done a thousand times before, and okay Aster had probably started it as he was wont to do, sue him for goading the boy that loved to needle him right back, and suddenly his whole paradigm shifted until Aster couldn’t see things straight any more. Out of the blue the things that would have made Aster turn his nose up before seemed more sylvan and ethereal than artless and inept, and definitely no longer signs of a boy caught in the tumultuous throes of puberty. Sure, Jack needed to be fed well and sent to bed early until he filled out some and the shadows faded beneath his eyes, but his large hands and feet could be taken as a young bucks would, on the edge of the final push into maturity, when the mind was an adult and the body not quite caught up to the fact. His long limbs were no longer gangly but elegant, like a good doe’s should be, and his slim frame may have been weakened by his sickness but Aster could see the bone structure and the way that, properly restored, Jack would be all lean sinews and delicate muscle, just like most Pooka. It was a misconception that Pooka Warriors were burly and muscular. Sure, they were stronger than most humans of comparable size owing to a difference in muscle density but Pooka’s, like earth Rabbits, were fine-boned, slender creatures disguised by the length of their fur, and only owning their durability to harder skeletons and the aforementioned difference in muscle composition. Truthfully, Jack Frost naked, or at least as much of him as Aster had seen, was by human standards no more attractive than the next gawky teenage boy. Viewed through the lens of Pookan standards though, Jack, while forever trapped in the months before full physical maturation, was of a somewhat uncommon beauty. In Aster’s mind it was easy to imagine Jack as a young Buck, winter-white furred with delicate silver markings like his frost ferns curling over his upper arms and down the ruff of fur at his chest. His blue eyes would be perfectly offset by a proper muzzle, not those silly flat faces that humans sported, and the unrefined jut of his ears would be transformed into the graceful sweep of long, lightly furred ears. 

Aster had long ago pushed many of his Pookan ideologies to the background, content to ignore them forever. He was the last, there would be no more, so there was no use stifling himself with old instincts and cultural trapping that could do him no use. Sure he’d kept some of it, not willing to let it all lapse to time and forgetfulness, as his people deserved better than that, but he’d long ago let go of Pookan ideals of beauty, as there were no other Pooka left, so they would serve no purpose but to disappoint. Over the centuries he’d adapted to the more Human-oriented ideals, differing and constantly changing though they were, as most spirits he’d met were human shaped. It had worked to the point that Aster had found himself attracted enough to end up with the occasional casual lover over the years. Nothing serious owing to his commitments as a Guardian and a general lack of interest in something permanent in general, but human bodies had long since stopped being a stumbling block for him. Also, since many humans, spirit or otherwise, came with such a variety of sexual tastes and desires, Aster had found that his own shape was usually not enough rule him out right off the bat, at least not for those he’d had trysts with in the past. Jack was different though, and Aster’s keen artist’s eye could, for the first time in centuries, draw up the roadmap of Pookan beauty, lay it over the boy like a blanket, and not find him wanting. 

No, Jack was another animal entirely; human though he was, there was a grace to him, a way of both motion and stillness that was as unfettered and wild as anything Aster had even seen among his people. Jack moved with purpose always, with an economy of motion even when he was flitting about like one of Tooth’s fairies. Forever precise and never in anything less than perfect control, all tempered with the sense of balance to rival any cat. Jack didn’t walk; he practically floated even when his feet were actually touching the ground, like somehow he weighed less than air. Which was untrue; take it from the guy who’d had to carry the frostling halfway across the Warren, unconscious. While light, Jack did in fact have some body weight to contend with, although perhaps just enough to coax him back into gravities arms when the flying was done.

Aster grunted his annoyance, realizing he’d lapsed into an almost poetic rant on the way the boy moved, for MiM’s sake. Sure, now that he’d actually opened his eyes and paid attention it was easy to see the boy was attractive, but that changed nothing between them. There were still barely cooperative at best, and downright antagonistic to each other at the worst, and Aster knew that was unlikely to change. At least, not until Jack recovered enough of his strength that he could let down all the defensive walls he’d built up to overcompensate for the feelings of weakness and inadequacy he no doubt had swimming about in his brain right now. Aster would know, he did the same thing, and didn’t that just sit unwell in his gut; the realization that he and Jack probably had far more in common with each other than either would like, or care to admit to. 

With a final, snapping flourish, Aster flicked Jack’s decrepit pants over the clothesline, pinning them in place with a twist of his wrist. There now, all done until morning, when the clothes would be dry enough to collect. Their wearer was long asleep, tucked into the nest and swaddled in the oversized green bathrobe that, yes, did in fact resemble some sort of fuzzy ball gown on the tiny body it encompassed, but Aster had, through herculean effort been able not to laugh as he served the kid dinner, and that alone seemed to settle the boy some. Just as Aster had suspected, a warm bath and full meal had lulled the frost spirit into an easy slumber, and Aster had chucked a quilt over the skinny body and left him to it, content to tidy up the kitchen and finish the laundry before he retired for the evening himself. Of course, he’s also assumed that he’d be able to ignore the little byplay they’d had while Jack had been bathing as he did so, which turned out to be most definitely not the case as the low-grade arousal that had been simmering under the surface of his skin had welled up full force the moment he was no longer distracted by caring for the other Guardian. It was a ridiculous set of circumstances, to be honest. Sure, they riled each other up all the time, and it was really only a matter of time before something had driven their taunts into a more sexual arena, but Aster had never counted on actually reacting to Jack in such a visceral way. Unfortunately, while his mind still held firmly to the opinion that Jack was a kind-hearted disaster in the making, his body kept not-so-quietly insisting otherwise. Aster bit back a lively curse as he shuffled back into his den, the sharp, sweet burn of his unwanted arousal impossible to continue ignoring. Well, nothing for it, he’d have to succumb and take the problem somewhat literally in hand if he wanted any respite from his overactive hormones tonight. It had been too long, obviously, since he’d last indulged in the warmth of another’s body. Refilling the tub for the third time that day, Aster gathered his favorite shampoos and bath oils, preparing himself for a good, long soak and a thorough wank. Perhaps, when his obligations to Jack were dispatched, he’d be free to seek out a new lover, or maybe even an old one feeling nostalgic for a few months of mutual pleasure. Someone who was as far away from scruffy white hair, haunting blue eyes and milky-smooth skin as he could find. 

Slipping into the steaming water, Aster let loose a few colour curses as his groin tightened without his permission at that last thought. With an unhappy sigh, he wrapped his fingers around his demanding erection, resigning himself to the challenge of trying to bring himself off to anything that wasn’t Jack fucking Frost. Assuming he could somehow manage to keep the boy from creeping into his thoughts unbidden for the next ten minutes; a nearly impossible task considering he’d been failing miserably at it since the boy had first shown up at his Warren looking to help. Of course, back then the thoughts had been tainted by anger, not lust.

White hair, blue eyes, miles of unmarked, pale skin...

Oh MiMdammitall, make that five minutes, and he’d be thinking of Jack the whole way. There were special seats in hell for people that jerked it to thoughts of bedridden jailbait, Aster had no doubt, and one of them most certainly had his name on it. The worst part though, he figured as he let his hand speed up, was that damn if this wasn’t going to make breakfast tomorrow the most awkward fucking meal of the day.

The orgasm that followed was _brilliant,_ and Aster knew he’d carry the guilt of it for longer then he cared to think about.


	8. The Sun Came Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ever since the enforced bath, Jack hadn’t been able to clear his head. Bunny had kept creeping in, slipping through all the back doors of his mind, like he had absolutely no regard for the fact that Jack had spent years constructing a mental fortress strong enough to stand against the loneliness and solitude that had been most of his life so far. Jack had thought for sure his defenses were stronger than anything, but somehow fuzzy rabbit-shaped Guardians of Hope were the exception.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, forgive the delay on my updates, until I find myself a new job, it'll probably continue.

The fingers combing through Jack’s hair were damn near perfect, the blunt fingertips scratching lightly at his scalp in a way that brought gooseflesh up on his arms and down the back of his neck. Jack hummed quietly in appreciation, tipping his head back into the motion, eyes closed with pleasure. The laugh rumbled through his companion, shaking Jack as well all along the length of their bodies where they were pressed together, side by side. Jack wanted to open his eyes proper and see, to speak, to lean into his mystery lover and touch back, but his whole body felt lax; warm and weighty with sleep and the unexpected joy of the moment. Hot breath huffed across his face once, then twice; his partner was laughing at him. Jack could only whine in response, pushing his hips forward in a silent plea for what he needed most of all. Jack’s stiffened prick wept with need, the wet head leaving sticky little patches on his stomach as it twitched, begging to be touched. The larger body beside him uncurled, slid downward, and Jack felt himself arch involuntarily, hips lifting in offering toward his unseen partner. Still unable to open his eyes to watch the proceedings, Jack undulated against the soft moss of the nest he lay in, empty and naked and needy, fingers clutching uselessly in the air at his sides. 

Nest. Bunny’s nest.

Bunny.

Oh, Fuck.

The realization hit Jack just as the dream crested; with the heat of a furry face settling between Jack’s slim thighs to nuzzle against his modest manhood. The first imaginings of that searing breath against his most sensitive of flesh had Jack’s orgasm slamming into him in a rush like a blow to the head; all dizziness and spots flaring behind clenched eyelids, the oversized bathrobe he was clad in now wetted with the unmistakable flood of liquid pleasure. Which, fuck it all, really sucked because not only was he now tacky, the damn thing would have to be washed.

Again.

For the third day in a row.

Ever since the enforced bath, Jack hadn’t been able to clear his head. Bunny had kept creeping in, slipping through all the back doors of his mind, like he had absolutely no regard for the fact that Jack had spent years constructing a mental fortress strong enough to stand against the loneliness and solitude that had been most of his life so far. Jack had thought for sure his defenses were stronger than anything, but somehow fuzzy rabbit-shaped Guardians of Hope were the exception. The only, exceedingly annoying, not to mention confusing exception, and Jack wasn’t sure how much more he could take. Okay, so admittedly, the wet dreams really weren’t anything new. Jack hadn’t really been making a regular habit of sleeping, at least not before he’d gone ten rounds with the Nightmare King and then nearly offed himself through overwork and what Jack knew now was dangerous levels of stubbornness and stupidity on his part. He had though, spent enough time in slumber over three centuries to have had more than a few racy dreams leave him sticky and frustrated come morning. Of course, that was before his most aggravating of all coworkers had decided to become the main attraction. No, now it was Bunny: Guardian of Hope and star of all Jack’s suddenly far-to-frequent nocturnal fantasies, come see him today in the forefront of Jack’s brain, live in and HD with surround sound! But wait, there’s more, participate now and get an additional helping of awkward moments and muddled feelings absolutely free! 

Jack also needed to stop watching late night infomercials over people’s shoulders too, apparently. 

Groaning and digging the heels of his hands into his eyes, Jack scrubbed the sleep from them until he saw starbursts. If only any of this could actually make sense somehow. Jack had always disliked Bunny, something about the other male just rubbing him the wrong way. And okay Jack hadn’t really helped matters much, what with the whole Easter ’68 debacle, and then the latest flub-up with Pitch, but the others at least had seemed prepared to give him a shot, a favour Jack was eventually happy to return, once he’d warmed up to the idea. Bunny had shut him down right from the starting gate though, and that still stung. Not that Jack hadn’t deserved it maybe. Well, more like definitely, but still, for some reason Bunny’s opinion mattered to Jack in a way that no one else, even North’s seemed to. Bunny’s words had weight, but so did his silences, and Jack wanted to learn to navigate that territory, to earn the right to Bunny’s thoughts and feelings legitimately, to be a part of his council, of his confidences. Perhaps it was the challenge of it, after Pitch Jack knew that the others would welcome him with open arms, and while they weren’t well acquainted yet, they certainly could be in a short amount of time if only because the others were willing to share themselves with him. If they were all open windows however, Bunny was a locked door, likely with a spike pit in front of it and guarded by a fire-breathing dragon. Bunny was shut down tighter than anyone Jack had ever seen before himself included, and something in that spoke to him. Like versus like crying out to one another perhaps, a mutual recognition of pain. At last, Jack assumed it was mutual. Bunny had been looking at him differently lately, like Jack was something to be peeled back in layers until the very meat of him was all raw and exposed. A part of Jack though maybe, just maybe, he wanted to let Bunny try, just to see what would happen.

The thought made Jack blanch a bit when he realized just how many inadvertent sexual implications he’d manage to charge one simple idea with. Really, he wasn’t usually like this, but then Bunny had gone and made allusions about how he was spending his time in the bath, and his mostly-ignored hormones were more than ready to take the lead and go charging right off the cliff into some bizarre sexual awakening. Could you have a sexual awakening a three hundred plus years old? For the sake of his sanity, Jack desperately wanted to say no, but he had a sneaky suspicion he’d only be lying to himself. Jack and seen and done a lot of different things during his decades alone, many of which he was less than proud of, but sex was one field that Jack still found himself mostly clueless in. Well, he understood the mechanics, but it was in the same abstract way that someone who’d only read about an elephant could imagine what it looked like. He had no hands-on experience, no pun intended. Unsurprisingly, it turns out that most spirits didn’t really dig the whole teenage frozen corpse deal for a sex partner. Not that Jack had been without offers, there had been a couple brave souls, but it had become very obvious in each circumstance before they’d even stolen a kiss that they wanted him precisely because he was a teenage frozen corpse, or some combination of the three. Which was such a turn off, knowing that they were only looking to satisfy a fetish with Jack’s willing flesh. Jack felt kind of dirty just thinking about what it would have been like to have let them take what they wanted. He could only imagine they would have fucked him like a piece of decorative furniture and left him as soon as the orgasm ended, and really, Jack wasn’t the most romantic dude in the world, but he at least wanted to like the guy who popped his cherry. Or girl, possibly, but most likely guy, because from what Jack had seen in his human memories and felt in all the time since, he’d always preferred the thought of taking a cock over being the guy doing the taking. And boy was he glad that the spirit world didn’t really give a shit about homosexuality the way the human world did, because in his day he’d have hung or burnt for it if he’d ever been caught. Not exactly the way he’d want to go. Of course, he’d gone and got himself drowned before it ever became an issue, which wasn’t something one would usually be thankful for, but in this case seemed to be working out for Jack just fine.

Sighing with frustration at the way his thoughts kept chasing themselves down the same paths they’d been over the last few days, Jack sat up, wincing as the fabric at his groin pulled a bit where it was stuck to his skin with the motion. Nothing for it though, he’d have to peel the whole mess off and sneak to the bathroom. With any luck he’d be able to slip into a quick bath and scrub the robe before Bunny came to get him for breakfast. He’d been successful the last two days, and while Jack had flushed about a hundred shades of blue and frosty as he hung the robe on the line to dry, Bunny had said and done nothing but raise a single eyebrow at him. Which was completely out of character for the guy that seemed to live to rub all of Jack’s shit into his face at every available opportunity, but Jack wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. He had no doubt that Bunny knew what was going on though, after all there weren’t many reason for a teenage boy to need to wash his sleep clothes every single morning, and Bunny was many things but a fool was not one of them. Regardless, whatever Bunny’s motivations were for keeping quiet, Jack couldn’t’ help but feel ridiculously grateful for the silence on the matter. He was humiliated enough by his body’s rebellion as it was and having some lagomorph-of-unusual-size commenting on it might have just convinced him to commit ritualistic suicide to spare himself the mortification. Jack had gotten the sex talk exactly once from his human mother, about a year before his death when he’d first descended into the throes of adolescent hormonal hell, and that was bad enough, he wasn’t going to put up with any snarky shit from the rabbit, thanks! Throwing the quilt back, Jack made to stand so as to escape to the bathroom, but was brought up short by Bunny himself entering the room. It was a knee-jerk reaction to yank the quilt back over his lap to hide the evidence of his night-time naughty thoughts, but he didn’t think it had done much good when he caught Bunny’s face from the corner of his eye. The Pooka froze in the doorway, nose twitching like he’d picked up an interesting scent, and oh fuckitall, he _knew._ When their eyes met, the moment pregnant with awkward tension, Jack didn’t need to see the gleam in them to know that it was the truth. Bunny could smell it on him, in the air, in the fabric of his robe and the quilt. Jack had brought himself off enough times alone in dark corners to know that sex had a smell; and while it had faded enough to his own nose to be unnoticeable, Bunny had proven in previous circumstances that his senses were much better than the average human’s. There was no doubt he smelled Jack’s release, and had guessed what had happened. Or worse, maybe Bunny thought that Jack had been pulling it in his nest, which, ew, totally not on his list of top ten things to do, ever. While pissing Bunny off did have his merits, someone else’s bed was kind of sacrosanct, and Jack had no intention of despoiling the nest unless Bunny was there to do the despoiling right along with him. 

Dear Jack, please delete that last thought from your mental database, you’ll thank yourself later. 

With a forced cough, Jack tore his eyes away from his hosts, ready to end the silent battle of wills in order to hide his embarrassment as best he could. There was no way Bunny could ignore this, and any minute now, he was going to tear Jack a new one, or commence with the mocking, and whatever it was Jack hoped he’d get on with it so he could toss in his two cents with a large helping of bitter sarcasm and move on with his day. Usually a verbal spar with Bunny was a welcome opportunity to sharpen his already deadly claws on the other, but today he was just so tired of the whole charade, he just wanted to take his lumps and try again tomorrow. Things had been weird between them lately, and Jack wasn’t quite sure what to do to regain the expected equilibrium. He felt his shoulders tense, staring holes into the quilt as Bunny stepping forward right to the edge of the nest. Jack waited for something, anything, but was still somehow completely unprepared for the rush of fabric past his face, landing onto his lap with a soft smack. Blinking in shock, Jack took in the thick, dark-washed denim, thin white cotton and rich royal blue taking up real estate on his thighs.

“Here kid, put those on after your bath.” Jack frosted again in shame, knowing that Bunny knew damn well why he’d be taking said bath, and yet the flutter of gratitude in his gut to Bunny for not stating the reason aloud calmed him. Despite that though, nothing in Bunny’s statement helped with Jack’s most pressing concern, which was finding out what the hell was in his lap.

“Bunny, what the hell is in my lap?” Okay, verbal filter is turned off today obviously. Oh well, the direct approach wasn’t all bad, Jack figured. It was bound to get him answers faster than just dancing around the issue with heavy doses of witty banter would, anyways.

“It’s clothes, Jack. Y’know, those bits of fabric you hairless one’s wear so you’re junk isn’t flapping about in the breeze all day. I want you to put them on after you bathe, so we can burn the old ones.” That had Jack blinking in surprise, unable to prevent the next words from flying out of his lips.

“But, why?” Jack almost smacked himself for sounding like such a country bumpkin, no wonder Bunny was giving him the eyebrow of doom again.

“Why what? Why burn the old ones? Because they’re no longer fit for dogs to wear, much less frost spirits that are now very high profile and did I mention suddenly visible to all and sundry? Or did you mean, why wear the new ones? Because I don’t fancy the thought of your bare backside all over my furniture. Any other questions now princess, or can I go back to cooking for your ungrateful arse?” Bunny had straightened up while he spoke, arms crossing over his impressive chest and Jack couldn’t help but feel foolish, and perhaps slightly intimidated.

“Yeah, fine, whatever. Don’t wreck the porridge, old man.” Grunting his annoyance, Bunny turned and his heel and strode out, slamming the door with a finality that let Jack know he’d succeeded in pissing the other off. Great, not exactly what he’d set out to do, but too late now. With a sigh, Jack stood, scooping up the new clothing and making his way to the bathing chambers. He washed quickly, scrubbing out the robe and chucking the damp mass into a laundry basket to take upstairs to the line. He then toweled off quickly, before his slowly renewing powers started causing the drops to freeze to his skin. He was somewhat perturbed by the implication that his old clothing was unfit to be worn anymore. The pants were one of the last links to his human past remaining, save his newfound memories, and Jack was admittedly reluctant to let them go. He couldn’t deny however that they were increasingly threadbare and were long past the point that jack could continue to repair them. Grudgingly, Jack admitted that it was time for replacements, if only to spare himself the embarrassment of having them fall off in front of a bunch of kids or something. Jack figured he could always persuade Bunny to let Jack keep them as opposed to burning, anyways. Just because he couldn’t wear them anymore didn’t mean that he couldn’t still hold on to them for sentimental reason.

Decision made and mind soothed, it was only then that Jack allowed himself to examine the new outfit. The dark denim was unsurprisingly a pair of skinny jeans, which, while ankle-length unlike the pants he’d been wearing, would probably at least fit similarly enough to not bother him. The white cotton turned out to be a t-shirt, plain and unadorned with a simple v-neck and sized to fit snugly, but not skin-tight. The royal blue was another hoodie, this one with a zipper up the front he could open to show off the t-shirt underneath if he wanted. The sleeves were a touch longer than his old one, and came equipped with built-in thumb holes in the cuffs, which after trying out Jack decided he very much liked. The hood was nice and deep; allowing him to cast his whole face into shadow when pulled up, which was a habit of Jack’s when he was feeling depressed, or uneasy. The material and textures were new and different, feeling strange against his skin, but all in all the outfit was perfect, both in size and style. As Jack stood in front of the mirror taking it all in, he couldn’t help but wonder at the fact that Bunny had somehow, without even asking, clothed him exactly as Jack would have clothed himself.

Now, if only Jack could figure out exactly when the boy in the mirror had become a stranger to him, then, to borrow a phrase, everything would be apples.


	9. But I Saw Right Through It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aster had resolved that moment, holding the sleeping little girl, that things would be different. They’d beat Pitch, send him screaming back into the shadows where he belonged, and Aster would learn to get back out there, back into the world again. Make new friends maybe, connect with the kids, and spend more time with his fellow Guardians. It would be a fresh start, a new beginning, the turning of a page onto a new chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, so sorry for taking this damn long to get a new chapter out. I've had RL stuff like crazy the last little bit. Hopefully that's about to change. Hope this chapter makes up for it!

Aster stomped into the kitchen, heavy footfalls broadcasting his distemper to anyone caring to listen. Ostensibly he was there to cook breakfast for one ungrateful, bratty interloper, but in reality it was more that fact that the kitchen was full of marvelous little cupboard doors that could be easily slammed until he felt better. At least, it would help soothe his current ire. As for the sudden explosion of lust, well, that could only be helped by storming into the bathroom and slamming _Jack._ Repeatedly, and with great gusto; like a screen door at a summer camp. Huffing out a great sigh, Aster attempted to calm himself, both emotionally and, um, _physically._ So he’d walked in on the kid after a wet dream, that wasn’t anything too strange. In fact it was probably to be expected, the kid was an immortal teenager, after all; he was doomed to spend the rest of eternity stuck in the throes of adolescent hormonal hell. Before the issue hadn’t really come up, no pun intended, because Jack was still so ill that his body was more focussed on healing then on the more recreational pursuits. But now that the balance was starting to shift, it honestly shouldn’t have been a surprise that Jack’ body would start settling into more natural rhythms, and by natural, he meant, horny as fuck. 

Except it had been. Aster had known objectively why Jack had slunk ashamed to the bathroom the last couple mornings, only to return and throw his nightclothes onto the drying line. Aster had survived his own libidinous youth after all, and while that had been more eons ago then he rightly cared to remember, it was difficult to forget the sheer desperation of teenage lust. Yet, somehow, even knowing and understanding this, he’d found himself almost against his own will deliberately timing his entrance just a few minutes earlier than usual, and was rewarded for his efforts by nearly catching Jack at the moment of orgasm. It was a beyond inappropriate thing to do, and Aster had no excuse except for his own insatiable curiosity, and decades of his own lust left untended. The smell alone had hit him like a fist to the face upon entering the room, but it was the slight hints of frost that had bloomed on Jack’s cheeks, his version of an embarrassed blush, that had really tested the limits of Aster’s control. The boy had been too tempting; lips bitten and ripe, frosty blush that appeared to journey all the way down beneath the overlarge collar of his robe onto his smooth, thin chest, and the scent of sweet male pleasure in the air. It had taken Bunny all his not-inconsiderable self control to hold back from crawling into his nest, onto the boy and licking him from head to toe. And then once that was done, continuing on to doing other filthy, fantastic things to the kid besides the licking. And then... well, it was probably better off that Aster didn’t get lost in his casual sexual fantasies while attempting to cook. Fire and distraction were never a good combination; he had the burn scars beneath his fur to prove it. 

Aster stirred the eggs a bit, sprinkling a bit of cheese in with each pass of the spatula to ensure optimal dairy product distribution. Aster loved gardening, loved tending the Warren an all the other myriad of tasks that were required to prepare for his holiday, but he hated most other domestics, cooking excepted. Cooking was soothing, and came with the bonus of tasty food when you finished. Cleaning however was a very different story. Cleaning happened only when he was so frustrated that an outlet was required, and as for the laundry, well he didn’t wear clothes for a reason. Having said that, his den was cleaner then he’d seen it in centuries, the stress of dealing with Jack twenty-four seven for the last couple weeks manifesting as the sudden urge to scrub, tidy, organize, dust and polish. He could practically see is face in the surface of his table it had been polished to such a high shine, and kitchen gleamed, and bathroom had stopped smelling slightly of mildew from him leaving little puddles of standing water everywhere and the bed linens on his nest were fresher then they’d ever been. Y’know, when his obnoxious houseguest wasn’t too busy cumming all over then.

Aster groaned and leaned forward to smack his head against the cabinets above him. He’d almost gotten the annoying little shit out of his brain, too! Now, the fantasy was back again; Jack stretched out in his nest, naked and needy, pale skin glowing in the light from the lanterns. Aster could almost feel the bite of frost curling over his skin and fur wherever Jack saw fit to touch him, the coolness contrasting playfully with the heat of their joining, and serving to inflame his passions instead of smother them. Aster could smell the innocence on the boy, too. Innocence and loneliness and a hint of the same desperation, and this morning, standing over Jack’s prone figure, Aster had wanted nothing more than to climb on and show the boy how similar they could be. Jack wouldn’t know the ways of his body, the best places to touch, and the sweetest way to draw out pleasure. Aster would show him all that, and more; he’d walk Jack through mating, teach him best how to please his partner, all the ways that two bodies could fit together in harmony. And then, when it was all done, they’d do it again, and again, until they both were too tired but not bored, never bored. Aster could want Jack for a long, long time, if he let himself.

Which was part of the problem, really.

Pooka’s didn’t do casual well. They were all about the long-term commitments; mates and families and till death do you part sort of stuff. Aster had, being stuck here on earth, been forced to adapt. Most earth spirits either didn’t have the same sense of romantic longevity, or, more likely, they didn’t want it from him. Aster wasn’t stupid, he knew that the handful of lover’s he’d managed here mostly saw him as more an exotic novelty than a true romantic partner. At the time he hadn’t particularly cared, the feeling of being able to drown himself in physical pleasure, to lose himself in the body of another, to fuck and tumble and strive for release was enough. A bit of rough on the side was enough for him to dull the sharp edges of his painful past, and offered a good enough distraction from his ongoing loneliness that he’d allowed himself to get used to the whole pattern of ‘get on, get off, get out’ that his previous liaisons had become. Part of that may have been his fault, too. Aster didn’t like to think about it much, but it was easier to accept the bare minimum of affection and keep the rest at a distance, than to put himself out there and inevitably be disappointed. Had he missed a chance or two at an honest romance? Yeah, he probably had. He couldn’t bring himself to regret it though, not when he knew without a shadow of a doubt that they’d all been likely to fail, sooner rather than later. He’d never seemed to have quite the right kind of connection with any of them, which wouldn’t have allowed for the sustained relationship his Pooka nature craved. No, he’d made the right choices, and done the best he could with what he’d had to work with. 

Nobody had ever made him feel like Jack did, however. Of course, most of his past dalliances were polite, respectful, and sometimes even slightly awestruck by Aster’s position and reputation. Jack was none of these things; in fact he was the complete opposite. He lashed out, hollered abuse, and dealt sarcasm like it was going out of style, and those were the good days of his and Aster’s interactions. MIM help him, Aster found himself sinking to the same level in retaliation. For millennia Aster had always been a water-off-the-duck’s-back kind of person; rolling with the punches and letting the chips fall where they may. He’d never risen to the bait from other, more petty-minded creatures, and if he did have to act to defend his honour, he’d done so in a gentlemanly fashion. From the moment he’d first met Jack though, the kid had set him on fire, which was all kinds of fun irony when you thought about it. The boy had wound him up, tried his patience, fucked with his holiday even, and Aster had tripped right into every loud, vicious, possibly overdone confrontation the kid had offered him. Aster would never admit it out loud, especially not where Jack had even the slightest chance of overhearing, but the boy had given Aster back something he’d thought he’d lost a long time ago: passion. Aster had fallen into a routine; settling into a rut and had spent centuries wearing it deeper, nose to the grindstone and eyes fixed ahead, with blinders the size of elephant ears keeping him focussed. It wasn’t until the kid showed up, shaking him out of his tired out pattern that Aster began to realize how much joy had leached from his life, replaced by an unwavering sense of duty. Oh sure, he was good at what he did, and he was content, but he wasn’t really happy, and he was so out of touch with the children he was meant to be watching over it wasn’t even funny. Aster had been ashamed of himself, a couple months back, when it had come down to the wire with a child in his Warren and he barely even remembered how to speak to one, much less how to care for the little Sheila. He had Jack to thank for that, as grudging as that thanks might be. 

Aster had resolved that moment, holding the sleeping little girl, that things would be different. They’d beat Pitch, send him screaming back into the shadows where he belonged, and Aster would learn to get back out there, back into the world again. Make new friends maybe, connect with the kids, and spend more time with his fellow Guardians. It would be a fresh start, a new beginning, the turning of a page onto a new chapter. He’d even allowed himself to think of how things might be, if Jack took the position as Guardian and joined their little ragtag family. He didn’t know much about the boy as it stood, but he was sure given a little time, that could change. Aster had even allowed himself to feel hopeful, to look forward to the blossoming of a brand new friendship. 

Then, Easter had been ruined, and Jack wasn’t there. Aster still felt angry, still felt hurt, but he also felt guilt too, for blaming Jack. It was easy to fall back into the well-known habit of blaming Jack, of directing his rage and pain at the most convenient target. They’d been doing this dance a long time, the two of them, although Easter of ’68 had been the worst so far; an incident so huge that they’d both gone out of their ways to avoid each other for the next fifty years. Until Manny had intervened, of course, and set them both down this path. Now, Aster was struggling to find a middle ground with a kid he alternately still resented, and desired. It felt like an unhappy cha-cha; one step forward, two steps back. If they could just bury the various hatchets they both carried for the other, preferably somewhere other than in each-others backs, they could probably learn to get along. They might even have a shot at being lovers, proper lovers; the kind Aster had been waiting for, that would stick around in the light of day and not disappear once the sex was done. Sighing, Aster felt his shoulders slump. Now, he was imagining things. Jack was combative, surly, and Aster was honestly no better himself. They were both to blame for their arguments and tantrums. After all this time mostly alone, neither of them had any clue how to handle somebody else, especially not each other and their laundry lists of hang-ups and insecurities. Not that Aster wasn’t starting to get a feel for Jack’s issues anyway; they were in such close quarters these days it was impossible not to. Every time he thought he’d figured out one section of the emotional minefield though, Jack seemed to realize that he’d been made and the playing field changed again. At first Aster had thought it was out of spite, but now he realized that Jack was lost and hurting, and was protecting himself the only way he knew how. Damn if that wasn’t also typical Aster-behavior to a ‘T’. It seemed, the more time Aster spent with the other Guardian, the more he discovered that while they were wildly different people, that was really what made them exactly the same.

“Well?” Aster jerked in surprise, so lost in his internal monologue he’d missed the gentle sound of soft footsteps approaching. He whirled around from where he’d been dishing up the scrambled eggs and toast to see Jack dressed in the new outfit. Aster was forced to tighten his grip on the two plates to stop himself from dropping both of them at the sight. The rich royal blue of the new hoodie made Jack’s eyes just that much more luminous, and cast his skin in what should have been an unhealthy pallor, but the faint blue tint looked natural on the frost child. The dark jeans clung perfectly to Jack’s skinny legs, although they were a little long, the cuffs bunching at Jack ankles and dragging in the dirt by his heels. On anyone else, Aster would have found it ridiculous, perhaps even slovenly, but on Jack it was endearing, and oddly erotic; the sneak-peek of pale flesh beneath the dark denim. Aster swallowed heavily, plonking both plates down on the table and fetching the two cups of water he’d already filled. 

“We’re eating here?” Jack asked dubiously, eyeing the table like it might bite him. Aster wanted to be offended on behalf of the table, which he’d hand-carved himself, but then he’d figure out that Jack was probably more skeptical of their ability to go an entire meal together without descending into a fistfight, and he suddenly couldn’t blame the kid. He had his doubts too, after all, but never let it be said that Aster was a quitter. He might never had Jack in his bed, or in his bed sexually, at least, but he’ learn to get along with his newest coworker if it killed him. Or killed Jack, he supposed. Either way, the problem would be solved. 

“Yeah frosty, we eat here. You’re well enough now that you can be up and about a bit. No flying though, or frosting, or mucking about or you’ll set yourself back again, y’hear?” The ‘and you’ll be stuck here and I’ll be forced to keep taking care of your lazy arse’ went unsaid, of course, but they both knew the score. Jack grunted in what might have been a vague, sullen agreement, before taking his seat and digging into his eggs like he hadn’t been fed in decades. Ah, table manners, one of many things about old Pookan culture that Aster missed. As it was, if Jack’s face got any closer to the plate, he’d be resting his chin on the table, and his hand was shoveling food so fast it nearly blurred. Aster couldn’t help his indelicate snort, or the eyebrow he raised when Jack lifted defiant eyes to meet his own. The boy retaliated by stuffing a forkful of eggs so large into his mouth in protest that his cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk. Suddenly, Aster got a flash of what else that mouth cold stretch around, lips swollen and cheeks hollowed as he...

Aster stood abruptly, shoving the chair back with so much force that only a hasty grab stopped it from tumbling to the ground. He yanked the chair back in, pushed his plate over to Jack and made to leave.

“Bunny, what the hell!?” Jack’s voice was startled, and maybe even a little hurt, but turning around meant Jack would catch an eyeful of Aster’s persistent and not-so-little ‘problem.’

“Finish that, I’ve lost my appetite.” Aster felt bad about subtly implying that Jack’s eating habits had anything to do with it, but it was better than the alternative of letting the kid know the truth; that if he stayed, Aster would probably be dragging the boy over the table to satisfy a different kind of hunger entirely. Jack made another sharp sound of protest, but Aster was already out the door and halfway down the hall.

“Off to have a bathe. Do me a solid and clean up that mess, it’s about time you earned your supper ‘round here!” Aster shouted over his shoulder, not bothering to listen for Jack’s reply. The kid would either do what he was told, or he wouldn’t; Aster would deal with the fallout after he’d wanked himself into oblivion. Slamming though the door into the bathroom, Aster made sure it was securely locked behind him. He set the water to fill, on the hottest temperature he could stand. He’d probably be soaking for a while, if his aching dick had anything to say about it.

“Y’know, I’m the boss here, you’re not supposed to get a say in this.” Aster commented aloud, scowling down at the traitorous appendage as he tugged off his bracers and bandolier. For its part, the limb in question merely twitched cheerfully, knowing that its satisfaction was as good as guaranteed. Still grumbling to himself about body parts that betrayed their owners, Aster climbed into the bath. He lasted about four seconds before he caved, drawing his hot length into hand and setting a ruthless, punishing pace. He wished he could say, in the end, that he’d once again managed to exert his dominance over his wayward flesh, but he knew that this was one battle he’d long since lost.


	10. Will You Rise Above

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Several million years, two different galaxies and entire species apart, and Jack and Bunny were damn near the same person when you got right done to the meat and potatoes of it, weren’t they?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two fics updated in one day! Unemployment, good for my productivity! ^_^;;;

Jack stared, stunned and confused at Bunny’s back as he beat a hasty retreat down the hallway, hollering back some nonsense about cleaning up the dishes after eating. Jack wasn’t really listening though, mind in a whirl.

Because honestly, what the FUCK had just happened?

Okay, they’d sat down to dinner, despite Jack’s reservations about being able to get through a whole meal together. And sure, maybe Jack was just a little too sullen, and his table manners left something to be desired, but seriously? They hadn’t even made it five minutes in before Bunny was bailing. Lost his appetite Jack’s skinny white ass! Suddenly, furious didn’t even cover what Jack was feeling. Livid, enraged, wrathful, hostile... Jack was a whole thesaurus’s worth of angry right now, and what was he doing, sitting about with a blank stare and stewing like some kind of sucker? Like a guided missile seeking a target Jack leapt to his feet and stalked down the hallway, tracing Bunny’s footsteps to the bathroom. He raised one fist, prepared to pound on the door for all he was worth; a bitter, hurtful tirade already rising in his throat...

A low, hungry moan met his ears from behind the door, halting Jack in his tracks; eyes wide with shock and hand paused inches away from the solid wood door. No, that couldn’t have been, he had to be hearing things... But a second, equally desperate noise from beyond the door made Jack step back; withdrawing quickly down the hall to the kitchen, rage gone and replaced with clarity so crystal clear you could’ve made jewellery out of it.

Bunny was masturbating. 

Bunny was in the bathroom, _touching himself,_ after having eaten with Jack. Or, more accurately fought with Jack while food happened to be in their mouths, whatever. Point being, Jack refused to think that a good meal was enough to get Bunny that horny, even if he was super old and probably hadn’t had a good fuck since humanity was still striking rocks together to start fires. Which meant the only other thing worth getting worked up over, unless it was the sink full of dishes or the fine wood grain of the kitchen table, was Jack himself. Which was the weirdest thought in the history of ever. Firstly, Jack was just a skinny little corpse boy who’d barely hit puberty before he’d croaked, he certainly wasn’t sexually attractive. Secondly, even if someone was willing to look past that, his personality left a lot to be desired. Oh, he was a good Guardian, even Bunny could admit that, and Jack loved the kids, but as a person... well. Jack was high-strung, high-maintenance, and a high-riding bitch when provoked. It wasn’t exactly a combination meant for glory. Jack was well aware that he came on too strong, and had a habit of pushing people away as a sort of ugly defense mechanism. It didn’t exactly inspire the people that met him into romantic thoughts. There hadn’t been anyone in three hundred years who’d wanted him, and Jack had long since gotten used to the idea that he wasn’t the kind of guy that people felt passionately about. At least, not sexually passionate; he got people worked up enough to yell at him plenty, though!

Regardless, there was apparently one person who felt differently. Of course, in the endless tragicomedy that was Jack’s life, that person had to be Bunny. Bunny, who couldn’t even stand to talk to Jack for longer than thirty seconds without one or both of them wanted to strangle the ever-loving hell out of the other. Bunny who hated Jack on general principle as the antithesis of everything he was; life to death, spring to winter, responsibility to playfulness. If there was ever anyone that Jack was destined to disagree with, it would, and had always been Bunny. He’d come into this situation knowing that it was likely doomed to failure from the first moment he’d volunteered, but he’d stuck around firstly as penance, and then later because as much as it stuck in his craw, Bunny was right and Jack wasn’t well enough to manage on his own; and due to his own stupid pride, to boot. He’d thought more than once about fleeing; about going to see Sandy or North or Tooth and sheltering with them instead. He knew they wouldn’t turn him away; they were too compassionate and noble for that. But the thought of the look on their faces, of the disappointment, of putting them out the way Bunny had been put out caring for him... No, that wasn’t an option. Strangely enough Bunny was Jack’s best bet if only because he was always angry at, disappointed in, or inconvenienced by Jack, so really this was nothing new. Jack snorted to himself, falling back into his seat and burying his face in his hands, elbows propped on the table and barely avoiding landing in his forgotten plate. Somehow, despite all the many and varied reasons why no one should have the hots for Jack Frost, Bunny in particular, the other was currently locked in the bath cranking the love pump, most likely to thoughts of the winter child himself. 

Well, _Hellfires!_

Jack had no idea what to do with that. He’d love to be mad about it, but that was mostly because being mad at Bunny for shit was just a default reaction by this point. Thinking about it more logically, and wouldn’t the Pooka be stunned senseless if he knew Jack was actually _thinking,_ Jack realized that he didn’t know what to feel. He’d never encountered this before, and found himself floundering with the completely new experience. With a sigh, Jack sat back into the chair, arms flopping into his lap. He eyed the long-cold, congealed remains of his breakfast with distaste. No way was he going to be eating that now. Well, the toast, maybe. Jack would never admit it, but Bunny’s homemade breads and preserves were heavenly, even cold. Nibbling on both his own and then swiping the piece off of Bunny’s plate, Jack decided the least he could do was honour Bunny’s request to tidy up. While he hated being told what to do, he hated even more being reminded that he was in debt to the other even further than ever for favours rendered. Jack scooped the remains of their meals onto the compost heap outside, before wandering back in and filling the sink to scrub. Bunny was a good cook, not prone to burning food onto the pans, so the work went quickly. Jack finished off with wiping down the stove top, counters and kitchen table before finally hanging the rag over the water tap to dry. Distraction finished, Jack quickly felt the thoughts all come piling back in. Collecting his staff from the corner, he meandered outside, determined to give Bunny all the time and space in the world to get himself back under control.

The sunshine was as bright as ever in the Warren, but the ambient temperature today was slightly cooler than it usually was outside of the burrow. That or Jack had been so far gone before that it had merely felt hotter, which was a distinct possibility considering how far down the spiral Jack had been before his collapse. Looking back, it was a miracle it hadn’t happened sooner. Jack didn’t want to feel grateful that it had happened in front of Bunny, but there were a thousand worse places and worse people to have been at the mercy of he knows, and while Bunny might activity dislike him, he wasn’t out to cause any real lasting harm to him. 

Or at least, Bunny disliked him only when he isn’t busy cuffing the carrot to thoughts of him, that is. With a loud groan, Jack tumbled back onto the grass in a nice, shady spot beneath a large tree. How was he supposed to get this craziness out of his brain? Bunny was wedged up tight into all the dirty little corners of Jack’s mind, gleefully taking shameless advantage of Jack’s proximity to fuel whatever filthy perverted fantasies the other Guardian could come up with. Man, what WAS the other male thinking about behind that door? Jack naked? Aroused? Both of them naked and needy, pressed tight together, thrusting and rutting like wild, savage animals... Jack shuddered slightly, perplexed and possibly even horrified by the sudden flare of lust in his belly. Seriously though, was this shit catching? Bunny was a giant rabbit, for MiM’s sake! Not that there was anything wrong with fur, or long ears, or those ridiculously chiselled shoulders that said fur couldn’t hide, or anything... Jack squirmed, uncomfortable both with his current stream of thought and the tightness of his pants which accompanied it. Okay, but bits of Bunny were attractive enough, like his eyes and the aforementioned shoulders and his large, strong hands, although the fur was strange. Well, strange perhaps because Jack had just never thought about it. He hadn’t minded thinking about Tooth at all though and she had feathers, so he supposed he should let the Rabbit-shaped thing go as a sticking point or risk being a hypocrite. Jack thumped his head onto the ground two, three times, hoping to help clear the turmoil in his mind with little results. Tooth had filled his fantasies for about a week after that hug on the day they defeated Pitch, before a trip to visit her had revealed her long-time romance with North and friend-zoned him so hard he thinks he wound up in ‘you’re like a kid brother to me’ territory. Which was still a step up from the ‘we hate your guts and think pleasantly on your epic demise’ territory he was usually shoved into, so he still considered it a win. Bunny though; man, Jack had never once thought about Bunny as a lover. Oh, he’d entertained brief fantasies about a number of spirits over the years, most with little to no actual seriousness beside a loose curiosity; like, what could Sandy’s sand be made to do to you, or would North’s beard tickle? It was kid stuff mostly; a harmless outlet for the riot of teenage hormones that liked to rear their ugly heads from time to time, a way to take the edge off. With Bunny however there had always been so much animosity between them that even the mildest of curiosities were stifled as seeds without ever taking root. Until of course, Bunny had kicked down that metaphorical door, and now all Jack could think about was _why._

Why why why. That was the million dollar question, wasn’t it? What had changed? Or maybe nothing had, and things had always been this way for the other male and Jack hadn’t known. Or perhaps it was something in his fragility, in his vulnerability that had called to the Pooka, has given him permission to feel things not felt before. Was thing Jack’s fault somehow? For all he knew, Pooka’s courted by being impossible dicks to each other all the time. Jack didn’t think that was quite it though. It was something ephemeral, something intangible maybe, some slight change in circumstance that Jack might never know or understand. What he did know was that, like a tidal wave or an avalanche or the first domino in a row being knocked down, the scales had irrevocably tipped and nothing would be the same. Jack couldn’t look at Bunny the way he always had anymore, not without hearing the timber of his pleasured cries muffled as they had been by that damned bathroom door. What would Jack notice now, looking at the other with his eyes newly opened? Would he see passion in that gaze? Would he see sensuality in the way Bunny moved and worked? Would he read carnality between the lines of their usual vitriol? Jack didn’t know, but something inside him was wriggling like an excited puppy at the thought of finding out. 

Jack still had reservations, naturally, but as time had proven he was definitely a shoot first and ask questions later sort of person. He couldn’t go charging into this one to ham-handedly though; Jack knew enough about Bunny that at the first hint of his secrets being revealed he’d panic and run. Or more likely panic and kick Jack out permanently, which would spoil Jack’s chances of ever figuring this whole thing out, as Bunny would never again let Jack close enough to do so. Jack blinked suddenly in surprise; since when did he care about being close to Bunny? Since when did subtlety matter? Jack and Bunny behaved typically more like battering rams onto barred doors than keys into locks when it came to each other. Everything was forcefulness if not outright violence, with no such thing as gentleness or mercy between them. Except, that wasn’t quite true, was it? Bunny had taken care of Jack; he’d fed him, set him to sleep in his own nest, allowed Jack to avail himself of all of Bunny’s facilities, to make use of his private spaces mostly without impunity. And if perhaps the other was somewhat surly or off-putting, well Jack hadn’t exactly been sunshine and daisy’s himself, had he? No, Jack had been a brat; rude and unappreciative and deliberately caustic, mostly at the urgings of his own selfish pride and insecurities. Jack would bet money that Bunny was probably being motivated by the same.

Several million years, two different galaxies and entire species apart, and Jack and Bunny were damn near the same person when you got right done to the meat and potatoes of it, weren’t they? Both of them were abrasive, defensive, egotistical in their own rights and unyielding to their cores. Their cores, which coincidentally, were practically cousins. Hope and Joy, what irony! Jack knew he gave Bunny no joy, and the other certainly offered him no hope in return, and yet...

And yet Jack had come here unbidden, to try and make a difference to the man he had wronged; to fix what damage he’d wrought in his ignorance with his own two hands. It had not made him happy, it had not brought him joy or hope, but it had been good and right and Jack did not regret. How could Jack regret? The only thing worth repenting so far was his shitty attitude. What did it matter, that the stakes between him and Bunny had changed? Jack had come here with a reason, a purpose, one he’d nearly lost in the confusion caused by this new, intricate dance. It hadn’t started in the bathroom a couple hours ago; no, this change had been coming slowly, gathering like a storm on the horizon. It had begun as a rumbling the moment they’d both made their initial hesitant attempts to reach out to each other, and built with each tiny concession they had managed over the last several weeks, few and small though they’d been. Jack just needed to brace for it the inevitable backlash and find his way through. What he meant to Bunny, and even what Bunny meant, or could eventually mean to him would remain to be seen. Only time and dedication to uncovering the mystery could give him answers now.

Pushing himself to his feet, Jack stood, determined, staff clutched tightly in both hands. Jack had never liked introspection, but self-awareness was an unavoidable evil when you had a literal eternity to think things over. No one could accuse Jack of being a coward and running away from his problems. Jack was going to pull himself together, get back on track and get the Warren fixed if it killed him. If he figured out what the hell Bunny wanted from him while doing so, then so be it. He was tired of fighting, tired of running and hiding and throwing up walls to keep people out. If he had to let someone in, he might as well try with the Pooka, who he knew through rumours and hearsay to be at least as battered and weary a soul as himself. This could all come down on him; fall right apart beneath his hands like a house of cards, but Jack refused to be swayed or discouraged. He had amends to make and a friendship to forge if he was ever going to get this Guardian thing right.

And who knows, maybe, just maybe, he’ll get to find out what Bunny was thinking of; stretched out in the bath and working himself to completion in the embrace of the hot, soapy water. Was it Jack’s name on his lips as he came? Jack grinned wickedly, daring to hope, just a little, that it was, even if he knew he ran the risk of the other male picking up on that little bit of hope in his chest and having everything unravel. What he’d do in that case, he didn’t know, but the notion of being wanted; truly, completely wanted, was more than a little intoxicating. Regardless, Jack was clever, he’d figure it out; and with a bit of luck, they’d both wind up truly satisfied with the outcome. Whistling idly Jack set off toward the burrow, feeling the pull of hunger and thirst thanks to his aborted breakfast. He toyed with the idea of making lunch, and then decided to do so. Let’s see what the other would make of him being nice and cooperative for a change. 

Game on rabbit, game on.


	11. Not What It Seems

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Upon entering his home, Aster was immediately titillated by a strange, quiet noise coming from the kitchen. It sounded like a voice, only more melodic with words and a tune and hey, there was singing in his kitchen. Singing. In Aster’s kitchen. And only one person who could be the culprit, unless North had suddenly lost his accent and taken up country music karaoke as a hobby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo, that was a long wait. I have no excuse except that Real Life sucks and my muses were nowhere to be found.

Aster drained the tub with one hand while towelling off with the other, watching the water swirl down the drain with a frown. Post-coital bliss was pretty much a thing of the past ever since Jack-freaking-Frost had taken up residence in Aster’s head full time. Usually he’d at least get a half-hour of naptime in after a good screaming orgasm like the one he’d just had, but now it was only a half-second reprieve from the thoughts tearing about his brain like a collection of moths around a candle. He’d hoped that soothing his physical urges would take the edge off, but he still felt gritty and raw, like sand under his skin just knowing that the boy was out there, likely pissed as hell for the scene in the kitchen and looking for a fight. Arguing with Jack had always gotten Aster’s blood running, although never before in a sexual way, and he found himself groaning and rubbing at his temples at the very thought. The last thing he needed right now was another excuse for his body to yet again revolt against his better sense. Stupid penis; Aster was most definite no longer on speaking terms with that particular appendage. At least not until such a time that it decided to smarten up and knock that shit off. Seriously, Aster couldn’t imagine a more ill-advised romance then himself and Jack; unless of course Pitch got involved somehow. And there was an erection-killer if ever there was one; the thought of Pitch Black was unsexy in the absolute. Aster filed the thought away in the back of his mind for the next time he found himself awkwardly and unavoidably aroused. Which knowing his luck would probably be in about ten seconds, when he walked out the bathroom door to find Jack and attempt to downplay the breakfast thing, or better yet ignore it outright, if Jack would let him get away with it. The less he had to discuss and dwell on his moments of lustful weakness, the better.

Scrubbing more furiously with the towel, Aster declared himself dry enough. While he thoroughly enjoyed the act of bathing; finding both the hot water and scented bath products calming and soothing, dealing with wet fur afterward definitely put a damper on some of the enjoyment. Aster allowed himself to shake once, mostly to help fluff his fur up for faster air-drying then to actually dislodge any remaining water droplets, but he was still pleased at the fine mist that filled the air regardless. It would be a bitch to clean up later, but he was kind of a large animal in a few small but notable ways and while he disliked admitting to it, it was just satisfying to give a good shake after a bath, so sue him. Aster carelessly tossed the towel onto the rack by the door; stepping out in a cloud of steam and leaving the door open a crack behind him to allow the rest of the steam to disperse. He stalked out past the kitchen, noting with a small amount of shock that Jack had actually taken the time to wash up after the aborted meal, and continued out to the garden. He half-heartedly yanked weeds for the next couple of hours, letting his hands work on autopilot as he turned this morning’s encounter with Jack over and over in his mind like fifteen year old girl with a crush. Actually, more like a zillion year old alien bipedal lagomorph with a crush on a fifteen year old boy, which wasn’t the least bit disconcerting at all, thank you brain and body for you marvelous contribution to Aster's declining sanity.

Aster sighed to himself, finally giving up on the weeding and deciding to break for lunch. Wherever the kid had gotten too, he was probably getting hungry too, and it was better to keep him fed then to let him get himself run down and sickly all over again. He stood slowly, suddenly feeling all of his countless years. He stretched carefully, enjoying the tug and pull of stiff muscles, and yawned widely. The sleeping on the couch thing had to end, for sure. He hadn’t had a good night’s rest in ages, and it was doing nothing for his mood or his behavior, admittedly. Jack was feeling better now; maybe he could talk the kid into a time-share for the nest? Scratching his ribs idly as he thought it over, Aster figured it couldn’t’ hurt to ask. They’d probably wind up fighting about it, but they fought about everything else, so why not? Aster ignored the traitorous little voice in the back of his head that suggested sharing the nest would work better if they were both in there at the same time. From a logical standpoint, the nest was far big enough for both of them to sleep without even touching, but Aster’s sneaky libido kept whispering about how close all that pale, delicate flesh would be if Jack agreed, and Aster knew it would be a terrible idea in practise, if only for the hell it would play on his self-control. Secondly, Jack would never agree anyways, so what did it matter? Aster ignored the brief flare of disappointment at the thought. It was one thing to have a strange inexplicable attraction to his teammate, and another thing entirely to have those feelings start to run deeper.

Upon entering his home, Aster was immediately titillated by a strange, quiet noise coming from the kitchen. It sounded like a voice, only more melodic with words and a tune and hey, there was singing in his kitchen. Singing. In Aster’s kitchen. And only one person who could be the culprit, unless North had suddenly lost his accent and taken up country music karaoke as a hobby. Summoned almost against his will by the unexpected noise, Bunny came down the hall and around the corner, only to confirm that Jack was indeed singing, albeit quietly to himself as he cooked. Bunny blinked, taking in Jack’s presence at the stove with no small amount of surprise. The cooking was beyond strange, in and of itself, but the soft yet passionate vocals were even more fascinating. Aster found himself staring for several long moments, transfixed in a way he couldn’t rightly explain. He’d never heard Jack sing before, obviously, and it appeared the boy was no slouch; his timbre was deep and pleasant, with a gentle cowboy twang that worked well with the song. Aster wondered briefly if Jack always sounded a little bit country when he sang, or if it was affected just for this particular song. The tune came to an end after a minute, and Jack’s voice tapered off into a more tuneless humming. Aster shuffled his feet, attempting to pan and entrance that wouldn’t’ declare that he’d been hovering in the doorway eavesdropping, but the scuff of dirt floor beneath his feet was glaring loud in the silence and Jack whipped around, startled. Their eyes met for a moment; Jack looking about as guilty as Aster felt, and for a second he worried that he’s actually interrupted some kind of poisoning attempt, which was absurd as there were no toxic plants or substances allowed in the Warren on general principle, and Aster’s nose was strong enough to detect most forms of tampering regardless. He sniffed once delicately, just in case, but all he could smell was some kind of soup-type thing, with what must have been a tomato base. Vegetarian chili maybe? Whatever it was, his mouth was already watering. Realising suddenly that Jack was still staring at him, like maybe he was about to bring the burrow crashing down onto the Frost spirit via the power of his rage at catching him in the kitchen, Aster found himself leaning as casually as he could against the door jamb, arms crossing even though his dirty hands were smearing mud against his chest and forearms. He’d be rising off before eating anyways, and right now he was more focused on stopping the kid from bolting. 

“You have a halfway decent singing voice.” It was somewhere halfway between a statement and a question, the words surprising himself considering Aster didn’t recall having giving his mouth permission to say them. Jack for his part looked just as surprised that he’d been overheard, and Aster cursed at himself internally for admitting as much, even indirectly.

‘Um, thanks?” Jack said quizzically, sounding for the entire world like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

It was also worth noting, Aster thought, that Jack’s usual knee-jerk sass seemed to be conspicuously absent. Narrowing his eyes briefly in the direction of the pot Jack was still stirring, Aster vowed to be extra cautious before eating. If Jack had indeed cooked with the intention of sharing, Aster would be double-checking his portion for any additives, as he had no intention of getting caught in some stupid prank that would have him in the john with the runs for the next week. Realizing that Jack was waiting for him to speak, Aster found himself hastily blurting his reply.

“Only when you aren’t deliberately being and arsehole at the top of your lungs, like you were before, I mean.” Bunny clarified a little awkwardly, in case there was any confusion on Jack’s end as to his absolute meaning. Jack raised one eyebrow in response, a slow smirk settling onto his lips.

“Well shucks Bun-Bun! You sure do know how to sweep a boy off his feet, saying such pretty things like that!” Jack had adopted a perfect hillbilly drawl for his reply; clasping his hands girlishly beneath his chin and blinking his eyes coquettishly at the Pooka. The sight was so ridiculous it was all Bunny could do to keep a straight face, the corner of his lip twitching a bit as he was torn between annoyance and laughter. Jack must have noticed, because something about the edges of his expression softened just a little. Well look at that, Aster thought absently, he’s almost handsome when he’s not being diabolical little shit-disturber. Aster shrugged off the thought like water, unwilling to let it take root when right in front of the object of his turmoil. Nothing good could come of letting his confusion and certain attraction be known, after all.

“Gotta ask though mate, why country? Woulda pegged you for one of those ridiculous pop music fans.” Aster walked into the room as he spoke, passing Jack as casually as if they did this every day, ignoring the wary tautness of the other, and the prickling of his own skin at the frost spirit’s nearness. He crossed the room to the sink, washing the worst of the mud off himself quickly, and then reached for the upper cabinet to his right, collecting a hand-carved wood bowl for each of them and setting them on the table. He was partway through filling a pitcher of water and grabbing two glasses when Jack finally spoke; voice soft and careful.

“Dunno really, I just like it? It isn’t that weird.” There was a hint of defensiveness in his tone; like a man expecting to get kicked in the ribs while he was down, and Aster couldn’t blame him. Most of their few personal confessions had in the past usually been exalted as signs of weakness and capitalized on in the endless mockery that was their standard interactions. Aster tucked the knowledge away, for either weapon or something else he did not yet know, but he’d hold on to that nugget the way he had all other tiny, nearly insignificant details he’d learned over the years about the younger male before him. If there was one thing he knew about their interactions and the unspoken rules of engagement therein, it was that anything they learned could and would be used against the other, but would never become public knowledge. Their griefs with each other were old, but they were their own and no interference from outside parties would be permitted or tolerated. It was the world’s ugliest version of ‘what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas,’ except replace Vegas with ‘Aster and Jack’s epic hatefest.’ Essentially, they had declared monopoly on treating each other like shit, and no one else on Earth was allowed the privilege. Even just remembering Pitch’s casual dismissal of Jack in Tooth’s Palace a few months back was enough to set Aster’s blood to boiling. Never mind that he’d said far worse on a more frequent basis, and taken just as horrible right back, it was the principle of the thing. Jack as Aster’s to torment alone, and if the boy tormented him in return, well that was just the status quo.

Only now, the torment had become something Jack didn’t even have an active part in; Aster realized as he watched the boy serve their meal wordlessly. He admired the thin, fine bones of Jack’s wrists as the deftly ladled the thick soup into the bowls and returned to pot to the stove. He took the same chair as he had that morning, eying Aster almost warily as he settled into his own seat. He took initiative to fill both water glasses, inclining his head slightly to Jack when the boy mumbled a thank you. The first bite was almost heavenly. Vegetarian chili indeed! Aster counted peas and corn and beans of several different kinds, the tomato base sharp and just spicy enough to tease. He made a pleased humming noise in the back of his throat and began to tuck in with vigour. He noticed however that Jack, while no less enthusiastic had at least made an attempt at remembering basic table manners. It was almost nice, Aster mused, eating together like this. Sure they weren’t yet comfortable enough to manage actual conversation, but Jack had at least recalled that sleeves were not napkins and that slurping away was only attractive in some parts of Asia. The meal passed quickly in such a fashion, as they were both obviously famished and made short work of the delicious meal. Aster found himself muttering a compliment in Jack’s general direction as he headed to the sink to clean up, but instead found himself shooed back out the door to work with Jack’s insistence that he’d do it himself.

 

Gaping stupidly at the door that had just been shut in his face, Aster found himself standing perplexed on his own doorstep for long enough that the singing started up again, if more distant and muffled than before. Snapping back to himself, Aster turned and headed back to the garden, digging furiously for weeds with renewed energy. He was baffled as to what had caused the unexplainable turnabout in Jack’s behavior. The kid had been downright helpful, and not even grudgingly so. Aster pondered the change for a while longer, switching between the beds as needed almost mindlessly. What could have possibly encouraged the boy to not only make himself useful, but to do so in an almost polite, if hesitant way? Aster turned a few ideas over in his head, but discarded each one as more and more ludicrous. No, there was no trick here, at least not one that was immediately obvious. The food had been safe to eat, and in fact delicious, and Jack’s offer to tidy up after was genuine, if overbearing. The boy was up to something, there was no doubt of it at all, but Aster couldn’t figure out as to what. After all, it wasn’t like the kid to just up and decide to kill him with kindness or something; there history was far too long and colourful for that, after all. Well, whatever it was, Aster would get to the bottom of it in no time flat. He’d been around for far too long to have the wool pulled over his eyes by some chump little upstart, even if it was clever little Frost. 

Aster switched beds again, brushing aside the niggling at the back of his head that was encouraging him to think about Jack puttering about his burrow, cleaning and cooking and just generally caring for his space, and therefore himself in ways that were usually more romantic than not, in Pooka-culture. Jack had no way of knowing what he was doing and the weird kink he was currently hitting, and Aster had no intention of letting him know, ever. The resulting fallout didn’t even merit contemplating, to be honest. The idea percolated momentarily that maybe that was what had happened; that somehow Jack had caught on to Aster’s silly little crush on his fellow Guardian, but he dismissed it straight off. For all his uncharacteristic behavior, he’d still managed to be discrete. No, Jack wouldn’t have caught on, at least not yet. The mental image of Jack as he’d been in Aster’s nest the morning he’d caught him fresh out of his erotic dream filtered into his psyche in bright, lurid detail. Huffing, Aster pushed it aside, returning his focus to the weeds dying beneath his fingertips. No, Jack was a normal, horny teenager, no secret about it. The boy couldn’t possible have some secret seduction tucked away in his back pocket, just waiting for an unsuspecting victim like Aster himself. No, whatever the boy’s hidden agenda Aster would find out, and come out on top if it was the last thing he did. It was hard to ignore the gnawing feeling in his belly that maybe; just maybe, this would be a game that somehow Aster was going to lose.

**Author's Note:**

> Crossposted to Fanfiction.net and my Dreamwidth journal.


End file.
